Opposites Attract
by Farky-fark and the Munky Bunch
Summary: A collection of one-shots, ranging from modern AUs to canon pieces, all about our favorite surly Hound and his little bird. Open for requests.
1. Paper Faces

**A/N:** Good evening. This piece here marks the beginning of a series of SanSan one-shots, _not_ called the Hound and the Little Bird. Nothing against that title, it's just been a little overused. So anyway, this one is a medieval AU, in some unnamed kingdom, at a masquerade ball. Because it's an AU, I took a few liberties with this particular version of Sandor and Sansa. He's less of a grump and she's a little more feisty. I hope that doesn't bother anyone. Thank you to my sister **GrowlingPeanut** , for playing jaunty medieval music for inspiration while I wrote this. I will take requests by review or PM if you feel so inclined.

 **Disclaimer:** A Song of Ice and Fire and its characters belong to George R. R. Martin, not me.

* * *

The masquerade ball was being held in honor of Joffrey Baratheon's eighteenth nameday. As the heir to the throne of most of the country's southern provinces, it was a large and well-attended affair. At the request of his mother, every eligible young woman in the neighboring kingdoms had been invited and at the end of the night, a proposal would be announced, much to the delight of the flamboyant and gaudily dressed guests.

As rich imported wine was served to the hundreds of eager subjects, Joffrey sat at the head of the table, his posture belying the boredom that his golden lion mask concealed. His father sat to his right, finishing his third goblet of wine and pouring a fourth. His mother stood proudly to his left, raising her glass in a toast.

"To my son, Joffrey Baratheon, the future king!"

"To the king!" Came the echoing roar of approval as scores of ornate goblets were lifted to painted lips of every color.

And with that, the festivities began.

Sansa Stark stood quietly at the back of crowd, sipping her wine and peering at the tittering young women around her from behind her jeweled bird mask. It seemed that the ladies of the neighboring kingdoms had chosen to ignore Joffrey's penchant for beating his whores.

With a toast from the queen and a cheer from the crowd, the dancing and drinking began, both in equal measure.

Determined to enjoy her evening as much as she could before it was her turn with the prince, she set aside her wine and twirled happily into a crowd of dancers, laughing as her thick woolen skirt brushed against her bare ankles. Heaven forbid Catelyn find out that she had foregone stockings for the long night of dancing.

As she moved her feet to the music, people paused to watch, impressed by the talent of the young Northerner. She had always enjoyed the modest balls that her father had held at their keep and as such had learned a variety of complex dances that never failed to draw attention.

It wasn't long before a pale, well-manicured hand extended in her direction and she raised her gaze to meet the glittering emerald eyes behind the fearsome lion mask. "May I have this dance, my lady?" Flushed and breathless, she managed a nod and took his hand, gasping as he pulled her tightly against his slender frame.

"Might I have the honor of your name, my lady?" He was charming, she could give him that.

"Sansa Stark."

Joffrey's thin eyebrows emerged from beneath the mask. "Ah. Lady Sansa. Eldest daughter of Eddard Stark, warden of the North. Tales of your beauty have reached as far as the Southern Isles, my lady. I'm eager to see if they are true." His hand moved past the small of her back and Sansa yanked it back to her waist with an unladylike huff that would've made her sister proud.

"With all due respect, your highness," she managed through her grimace, "I'm sure there are ladies here far more beautiful than I. Surely they are worth your attention more than I."

The implication of her words did not escape his notice and his grip on her tightened for a moment before he relaxed and smiled charmingly, a dangerous glint in his eyes betraying his true thoughts. "If you say so, my lady." Gratefully, she moved to pull away, and he whispered lowly beside her ear as she escaped his grip. "I won't forget that, Lady Stark. I enjoy it when they fight back."

Her stomach soured at the threat and she turned swiftly, disappearing into a crowd of dancers to avoid the prince. Perhaps that hadn't been her wisest decision.

She sighed and began making her way back to her wine glass when a deep voice made her falter. "I wouldn't if I were you, milady. One of his highness' men slipped something in it while you were dancing."

Eyes wide, she turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man in a full-face snarling dog mask leaning casually against the nearby wall, drinking heartily from a wine goblet.

"My lord, I—"

"Not a lord."

She frowned and began again. "Ser—"

She could almost see his scowl. "Not a knight either. Just Hound will do." He bowed at the waist then straightened up and belched loudly as he finished his wine. Sansa wrinkled her nose and averted her gaze, making him chuckle darkly. "What's a pretty little bird like you doing here amongst all these…" His steely gray eyes scanned the crowd with evident disdain. "Peacocks?"

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "The same thing that a dog is amongst the lions and wolves I suppose," she countered, "trying to avoid notice."

He seemed to be enjoying their easy banter, his lips curving into a smirk beneath the ebony snout. "What, haven't you heard? Joffrey Baratheon is the most handsome and charming man in the kingdoms."

Sansa couldn't help the unattractive snort that his jest incited, and he laughed loudly in response. Shaking her head, she laughed with him before holding out a hand. "A dance, ser?"

An eyebrow rose, but he took the extended hand and led her back into the crowd nonetheless. "Have I been knighted in the course of our conversation, little bird?" He sounded less irritated at the mistake this time; merely reinforcing his earlier statement.

She ignored him, flushing beneath the high collar of her dress as he took her in his strong arms and moved clumsily to the music. After the third time stepping on her foot, he cleared his throat and pulled away, murmuring his apologies. "I'm not much of a dancer, milady. Perhaps you should find a partner more suited to your skills."

Smiling gently, she took his hand again and guided him in amongst a mass of sweaty drunken guests. "Nonsense. Just let me lead."

He acquiesced silently as Sansa covertly glanced to where Joffrey was dancing nearby, his grip far below the proper level on his partner's hips. Of course, the young lady's elaborately decorated gown practically left her breasts exposed to his hungry gaze and did little to dissuade the roaming of his hands. As though aware of her gaze, Joffrey's eyes shifted and then narrowed when they met hers, a sly smirk gracing his thin lips as he admired her figure. It was obvious that her rudeness hadn't put him off as much as she had hoped. If anything, her resistance had made her even more alluring.

Disgusted, Sansa shifted so that her mysterious companion was between them and flashed him a grateful smile when he nodded in understanding and subtly tightened his hold on her waist.

As the festivities continued, the sun sank down below the horizon, and the wine flowed freely, the tempo of the music increased and Sansa found herself on display once again as she flawlessly executed a stunning display of speed and agility, her delicate feet moving swiftly to keep up as she lifted her skirts and whirled about, laughing gaily at the looks of surprise and delight on her observer's masked faces.

When the musicians finally slowed to rest their calloused fingers, she staggered, dizzy, into the waiting arms of the tall, masked stranger. He caught her willingly and bent down to her ear when she squirmed breathlessly in his steadying grip. "Is it just me, or are your legs bare beneath that dress, little bird?"

Flushing a deep red in embarrassment, she met his gaze, startled by the intensity that she found there, her chagrin quickly fading as it was replaced with a feeling she didn't quite recognize.

His hands fell slowly to rest on the curve of her hips and he studied her in silence for a moment before tilting his head slightly and leaning almost imperceptibly towards her. Her heart fluttered and for a moment, she thought that he meant to kiss her, but before he could do so, or anything else, the delicate _clink_ of a silver utensil on spun glass broke them apart.

His breathing seemed labored as he turned to face Cersei Lannister and Sansa tried desperately to quash the sensation that was bubbling in her stomach.

"As you know," the queen began, smiling widely beneath the curve of her golden mask, "Tonight is Prince Joffrey's eighteenth nameday, and as such, tonight is the night that he will choose our future queen." She paused for applause and the drunken revelers did not disappoint. Her smile growing, she cast a look of adoration at her eldest son and raised a slender eyebrow. "Joffrey?"

The prince stepped forward, blocking his mother from view, and cast a brilliant smile out over the crowd as he removed his mask. An awed gasp followed the unveiling of his sculpted features and he basked in the admiration for a moment before letting his gaze fall to the group of young women huddled together before him, whispering nervously amongst themselves.

"What my mother says is true," he conceded, his smile softening in mock sympathy at the sight of their anxiety. "All of the ladies present tonight are here for a reason, and never before have I had the honor of being in the presence of such beauty." A collective sigh followed his flattering admission and even Sansa couldn't help the short surge of pride that bloomed in her breast.

Beside her, the hound grumbled under his breath, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"My chosen bride is a particular beauty amongst these jewels, a woman known across the land for her grace and poise as well as her fairness."

His eyes were searching the crowd, and a slight frown tugged at his lips as he appeared unable to find the woman in mention. Before Sansa could think to realize that she was the only one standing away from the other ladies, her partner for the evening had his hand at her elbow and his mouth at her ear.

"Say the word and we can be gone, little bird. You'll never have to see the bastard again. I can have you safely back with your family before he can find you."

Her heart leapt to her throat as she realized what was about to happen and she looked up at him, eyes wide with fear. "How? If he wants me, he won't stop at my father's walls."

He shielded her with his massive frame as Joffrey stalled and knelt before her, tilting her chin so she could meet his gaze. "I have an idea, but only if you're willing. There is a way to ensure that you aren't his bride..."

Her eyes widened in realization. Of course. But only if she was betrothed to another before he reached the Stark keep. Her heart pounding in her chest, she carefully removed her mask and gave him a nervous smile. "Can I at least know your name first?"

At that, he laughed, his half-burnt lips curving into an amused smile as his disguise fell discarded to the ballroom floor. "Clegane. Sandor Clegane."


	2. Flinch

**A/N:** This one's a modern AU. And the chapter title was taken from the Alanis Morissette song that inspired it. It's a good one; I recommend listening to it sometime. Thank you to **magnus374** and **Jodi** for their reviews of 'Paper Faces', and to everyone else who took the time to follow or favorite it. Your feedback means a lot.

 **Disclaimer:** Everything important belongs to George R. R. Martin.

 **Rating:** M for strong language and some suggestive content.

* * *

It was exactly ten years to the day. The day that she had finally escaped the Lannisters and their endless abuse. The day that she had last seen... _him_.

It started like any other. She got up, dressed in a white blouse and light grey pencil skirt, brushed her long auburn hair until it shone, then gracefully descended the stairs for a cup of coffee. It was as she was stirring in a healthy dose of hazelnut creamer that her cell phone rang; Beethoven's Ninth: Bran.

"Good morning, Brandon!"

There was a momentary pause before, "Is it, Sansa?"

She was aware, of course, of the significance of the day, and even as she responded, her eyes drifted to the mirror above the sink and the scar across her lower lip. "As good as any other," she responded cheerfully before changing the subject. "How are you two newlyweds?"

She could hear the smile in her brother's voice. "Couldn't be better. Which may have something to do with the fact that Meera's making pancakes."

Sansa laughed. "You're lucky to have her, Bran. Don't forget that."

"I won't," he promised, then noticeably hesitated. "Sansa, there's something you should know." Her mug halfway between her lips and the counter, Sansa froze, then lowered it back down with trembling hands as Bran continued. "I saw someone the other day. Someone I thought neither of us would ever see again. He was moving into an apartment somewhere downtown."

Sansa's mouth went dry and her hands clutched the counter to keep from falling. _Oh God, Joffrey..._ She didn't realize she had spoken aloud until Bran replied. "No. Sandor Clegane."

Her heart nearly stopped when she heard that name, _his_ name. It had been ten years since she had heard it outside of her own thoughts. Ten long years.

It was Clegane who had carried her broken body from the home of his employers to the nearest hospital. When she came to, she saw Brandon and Arya regarding her with eyes full of pity, and even little Rickon, who was still too young to understand. The first word from her lips was his name and the nurse, once told the significance of her whispered pleas, informed her that her scarred savior had disappeared the moment her family arrived. And she hadn't seen him since.

"Sansa? Sansa! Are you alright?"

Her brother's voice roused her from her thoughts and she responded shakily. "I'm fine, Bran. I just...can I call you back later?"

Bran sounded troubled, but he acquiesced nonetheless. "Yeah, sure. Just let me know if you need anything."

Sansa nodded absently as he ended the call, then collapsed to the floor as a broken sob tore from her lips. Her coffee sat on the counter, forgotten, as it gradually turned cold.

* * *

It was fitting that it should happen on that very day. Ten years since the night he left the fucking Lannisters to rot. Ten years since he had seen... _her_.

It was after a long first day at his new job that it happened. He walked into the little coffee shop down the street from his apartment and there she was. She had a coffee cup in one hand and one of those trashy paperback romances in the other. It disgusted him to think that the little bird's sense of love had shifted from white knights rescuing damsels in distress to sleazy men who treated their women no better than back-alley whores.

She looked up when the bell on the door pealed cheerfully and her pretty lips parted in surprise when their eyes met.

He could only imagine what she saw. A hideous ghost from her past, with mud caked up to his knees and cement dust clinging to the thin strands of his hair. She, on the other hand, was more beautiful than ever. Her fiery hair was tucked back to frame her delicate features and the skirt she wore revealed just enough of her long pale legs to make him remember the way he had once felt about her. Back then she was still just a girl and now that she was a woman grown his desire for her burned hotter than it ever had before.

Disgusted with himself, he turned and left empty-handed, just as he had ten years before.

The next time she saw him was in her therapist's office.

The Quiet Isle Therapy Center had been the one place she had managed to feel at peace after her release from the hospital, and even though Dr. Edward Bruther only saw her one day a year (on the anniversary of that night), he always scheduled her appointment without question as soon as he got her call.

As he always did, the kind old man listened without interrupting her and silently handed over a box of tissues when she began to cry.

When the clock announced that her time was up, the doctor patted her shoulder comfortingly and, far outside of their normal routine, directed Sansa toward his secretary to set up another appointment before retreating back into his office.

He was there when she entered the waiting room, sitting in a chair that was far too small for his massive frame, his hands hanging loosely between parted knees. As though by some force unknown to them both, his gaze lifted and she found herself staring into the familiar deep grey of his eyes.

The longer he stared, the more her anger began to grow. Or, perhaps it wasn't quite anger. She certainly couldn't deny that she was upset with him for having left her all those years ago, and yes, angry that he had reappeared again to bring back all the painful memories. But…a part of her was also ashamed to feel that way about the only man who had ever tried to protect her from Joffrey's abuse, and, though the feeling confused her, she realized she was grateful that he had returned.

" _Who do you think you are to make me feel this way?"_ she wanted to yell. After a decade she had finally thought herself rid of her past. Living on her own in Chicago, a successful fashion designer at only twenty-five, she was happy for one of the first times since the accident that had killed her parents. And all it took to bring it all toppling down again was Sandor Clegane.

It was the sound of her own shaky breath that brought her back and he was on his feet in seconds, the rough pad of his thumb wiping a tear from her cheek that she didn't realize had fallen and settling against the scar that marred her lip.

Her pulse fluttered as she looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes and her lips parted as she contemplated what to say. _Where have you been? Why did you leave me? ...I've missed you._ The latter thought formed on her lips then died away when the door opened behind them.

"Mr. Clegane?"

And just like that, he was gone again.

After that, she didn't see him for weeks, though she made regular appointments at the Quiet Isle and continued drinking her after-work coffee in the same café. There were a few times she felt sure that he was nearby, but whenever she looked closely, the man with long dark hair was never the one she had expected. Never the one she was hoping for.

At first, his disappearance seemed like a relief. She told herself that she would be able to return to her life as it had been before: scheduled, predictable, and lacking in the department of anything that truly provided a link to her past.

However, as time went on, and a month had nearly passed without another meeting, she began to feel desperate. There were still so many things she needed to say to him. So many things that she needed to hear him say back.

She never would've survived her life with Joffrey if he hadn't been there to protect her, and whether she liked it or not, her life had been securely tethered to his the moment he had carried her out of the Lannister's mansion and into the nearest emergency room.

It wasn't until she found herself hiding behind a locked stall door in her office's bathroom, her thinning body wracked with uncontrollable sobs that she was able to admit to herself that she needed him. She had never thought that it would be Sandor Clegane of all people that she would have to rely on for her happiness, but she had finally realized that she would never be able to escape her past until she was able to confront it.

Nearly two months had passed before she finally mustered up her courage and called Bran again. He was happy to hear from his sister, but much less enthused to hear that she had only called to see if he could tell her where to find Joffrey's runaway dog. After enough assurances on the fact that she knew what she was doing, he relented to doing some research, and the next morning found her frantically scribbling on the notepad by her fridge before grabbing her purse and heading out the door.

* * *

After their run-in at the therapist's office, he didn't see her again. He got out of the bloody "Quiet Isle" as soon as the old man had asked him why he had helped the little bird escape from her cage and didn't bother to make a follow-up appointment.

And the coffee shop…well, he certainly went to it again. Every evening, he would stride confidently up the sidewalk to the artsy little door, get one glimpse of her through the windows, and turn back with his tail between his legs. He was too much of a mess to get anywhere near her after two weeks of that.

Maybe it was good that he couldn't bring himself to be around her again. She wouldn't get hurt that way. Wouldn't have to look up at him with those big blue eyes and ask why he had left her, _again_. Yes. It was better this way.

That's what he told himself as he drank himself into a stupor every night and dragged himself to work every day with an even worse hangover than the morning before. It was the only way to sleep without dreaming about the Stark girl naked and perfect in his bed.

Finally, he decided that it was time to leave. His job in the city was a good one, and a part of him had come to enjoy the company of his fellow workers, but he knew that he would never be able to live here so long as the little bird was flying about. So, ignoring the corner of his mind that so desperately wanted to go to her and beg for her forgiveness, he turned in his two-weeks' notice and started packing up his meager belongings in the same battered cardboard boxes they had come in.

Just as he was finishing, there was a knock at his door and he sighed in relief. That would be the landlord, collecting his last payment of rent and the key to his room.

"It's unlocked!"

He heard the door open behind him as he disappeared into his bedroom to retrieve the last of the boxes and when he walked back out, there she was, standing in the middle of his living room. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty shade of red as she stared down at her feet and her fingers idly twisted the bottom of her skirt.

The long forgotten box fell to the floor with a gentle _thud_ , and he found himself at her side, his fists clenching and unclenching uselessly as he fought the urge to grab her and pull her against him.

A few minutes of silence passed before she let out a small sigh and raised her gaze to firmly meet his eyes. He didn't see any fear in them, as there had always been when she lived with the Lannisters and as she looked at him, a gentle smile began to curve at the corners of her lips. They parted as he stared at them and with a simple word, she became firmly rooted back in Sandor Clegane's pounding heart.

"Hello."


	3. Out of the Closet

**A/N:** So this one is another modern AU, but it's when Sandor and Sansa are teenagers. The story's pretty self-explanatory. I have no idea why this idea came to me, but it did, and I like how it turned out, so I hope you enjoy it too. Thank you to **magnus374** for reviewing 'Flinch' and to **Marcela** for reviewing both that and 'Paper Faces'. Feedback is always great.

 **Disclaimer:** A Song of Ice and Fire and all its characters belong to George R. R. Martin

 **Rating:** T for mild language and suggestive content

* * *

"So, Sansa...is it true?"

The birthday girl looked up from the sliver of cake on her lap and raised an eyebrow at her friend Mya who sat beside her. "Is what true?"

When she didn't answer right away, Myranda Royce spoke up through a mouthful of cake. "You know, Sans. 'Sweet sixteen and never been kissed'!"

At that, Sansa dropped her gaze to her plate and tried to ignore the blush she knew was quickly rising to her cheeks. As she nodded, she tried desperately not to think about how she had spent last night, and to avoid the heavy gaze that she could practically feel from across the circle.

The other girls present let out sounds of pity and disbelief at her affirmative gesture and Myranda was again the one to speak up, shoving her cake across the floor and drawing something from her seemingly bottomless purse.

"Well then it's a good thing I brought this with me!"

Sansa lifted her eyes to the item in her hand and her blush deepened further when she saw that it was a large wine bottle.

"Come on, Randa," Robb chided from his spot on the couch with his girlfriend Jeyne, as far away from the festivities as he could get while remaining within view of the television. "Don't embarrass her any more than you already have."

The troublemaker pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't be a spoilsport Robb. Just for that, you and Jeyne have to join now too."

His soft-spoken girlfriend gave him an unveiled glare to reveal her thoughts on his involvement in the matter, but she allowed him to guide her over to the circle that the younger teens had formed on the carpet with minimal complaint.

Margaery and Mya clapped gleefully as the impromptu game of Spin the Bottle grew, Sansa took a calming sip from her cup of punch, and Arya just snorted in disbelief.

"I'll start," Myranda offered, settling the contraband bottle in the middle of the circle and giving it a twirl. It spun a bit sluggishly on the carpet, but managed to make a full turn before settling on Theon. The older boy didn't seem to mind the outcome and scooted across the circle to place a loud, theatric kiss on Myranda's gaudy red lips. Both were grinning when he pulled away and Sansa's friend passed the bottle to her right: Mya.

Sighing, she spun it and gave Robb a slight shrug when it pointed to him, moving to her knees to shuffle over and kiss him on the cheek.

"That wasn't a kiss, Mya..." Margaery Tyrell complained, pouting exaggeratedly.

The other girl just shrugged again and gestured toward Jeyne. "Not my fault I got the one who's already taken."

The grumble at her response faded when the bottle was passed to Sansa, and the pretty redhead was finally forced to look around the circle and meet the expectant gazes that fell on her. Unfortunately, she stalled for a few seconds too long, and Myranda gasped suddenly.

"Ooh! I have an idea. Since you're the last one of us to turn sixteen, besides Arya of course, and you still haven't kissed before, I say we make you do Seven Minutes in Heaven."

Sansa's expression turned to one of panic when her guests, even Arya and Robb, sounded their approval. "What's that?" she asked timidly.

Margaery and Myranda exchanged a glance and the former offered an explanation to their innocent friend. "Whoever it lands on has to go with you into that closet over there," she gestured toward the pantry off of the kitchen, "and you have to stay in there for seven minutes..."

When Sansa stared at her in disbelief and horror, Myranda added helpfully, "kissing the whole time."

Sansa looked desperately around the circle for anyone who would stick up for her, but she was only met with looks of excitement, boredom, amusement, or in one case, barely repressed anger.

"I don't think—"

Margaery rolled her eyes and tossed her curly brown hair over one shoulder. "Come on Sansa, don't be such a prude."

Though she said it teasingly, the words cut deep and Sansa took a deep breath before firmly gripping the bottle and setting it in the middle of the circle, her teeth clenched when she responded. "Fine."

She could swear that time stopped as the bottle made its way around the circle. It spun past Myranda and Mya, who looked at her expectantly, past Margaery, who had a pretty but conniving smile on her face, past Arya and a friend of hers who Sansa didn't really know, past Robb, who gave her a look of half-hearted sympathy, past Jeyne who actually did look remorseful, past Theon, who looked far too excited for anyone's good, and finally landed heavily, pointing at the socked feet of Sandor Clegane.

Her eyes met his and Sansa could feel her face grow hot. To her left, Arya cleared her throat loudly and gave Sansa a pointed look, and she was forced to face what she was hoping she could've avoided until all of her guests were gone.

Sandor was older than Sansa and her friends, a freshman in college, and a friend of Arya's from the boxing club where she worked out every morning before school. When they had first met, Sansa had found him abrasive and offensive, but with time, she had been exposed to his softer side, the side that called her 'little bird' and wiped away her tears when she didn't get asked to prom by Joffrey Baratheon. The side that she had gradually fallen in love with.

The summer before he left for college, the inevitable finally happened and they found themselves pressed against each other in the foyer of the Stark mansion, lips locked and hands roaming to places they probably shouldn't have. It had been easy step from there to dating, though they had agreed to keep their relationship a secret. Eddard Stark was fiercely protective of his daughters, and though he liked Sandor as a friend of Arya's, they doubted that he would be equally liked as the older and far more experienced boyfriend of his pure and innocent elder daughter.

Arya had only found out a few weeks before, when he had returned home for Thanksgiving break. Ned and Catelyn had been out at some function, and for once, all the other Stark children had been preoccupied elsewhere as well. Naturally, they had made the most of the situation, and both had been thoroughly appalled when Arya had flung the door open, equally mortified by the sight of Sandor and Sansa...'studying'...on her bed. In return for her silence, Sansa had agreed to do Arya's chores for the next three months in addition to her own, a fact which she was now not so subtly reminding her older sister of.

It felt as though a lifetime passed before Margaery spoke up again. "Well then, go on Clegane, show her how it's done."

He stood up to his full height of a menacing six foot six and glowered down at the giggling teenage girls. "Shut the hell up, _Tyrell_."

Sansa's two best friends were far too amused that she would have to have her 'first kiss' with the scarred and scowling younger Clegane brother to chastise him for his language, and it was their mirth that kept them just distracted enough to not notice when Sandor's hand closed protectively over Sansa's as she stood and walked with him toward the kitchen pantry.

Her cheeks were flaming when she glanced over her shoulder, but her friends cheered her on, whooping loudly when Sandor yanked her inside and slammed the door behind them.

Sansa was breathing heavily as she flew into the pantry and landed with a thud against the shelves that lined the walls, her heart racing. She could feel Sandor's warm breath against her face as he looked down at her, but it wasn't until her eyes had adjusted to the darkness that she saw the look of amusement on his face.

She huffed indignantly and crossed her arms over her chest. "This isn't funny, Sandor."

He chuckled and brought a hand to gently cradle her cheek, turning her face up to his. "Sure it is, little bird. Those girls out there think they're so clever making you do this. Well..." He leaned down and she shivered when his lips ghosted across her neck. "Joke's on them."

She let out a nervous but delighted giggle. It was kind of funny if she thought about it that way.

Before she could do much more thinking, Sandor's arms were around her waist, lifting her up to sit on the counter that ran below the shelves and capturing her lips in a deep kiss. She sighed happily at the familiar sensation of his tongue exploring her mouth and his hands roaming across her body and she wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him towards her.

He let out a grunt of surprise when he felt his hips collide with hers and Sansa felt her pulse quicken when his eyes darkened. Without warning, he bucked against her, earning a gasp as Sansa's hands flew up to grab something, clumsily gripping the edge of one of the shelves and knocking a few boxes onto the floor.

They could hear a brief swell of conversation from the other side of the door at the racket and Sansa froze in fear of discovery as Sandor pulled her into a hungry kiss.

"Don't worry about them, little bird," he murmured, pulling away to pepper kisses along the line of her jaw. She nodded, jostling his head from its spot beneath her chin. He moved back and looked down at her for a moment, his thumb stroking the curve of her neck.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you look in that dress, little bird?"

She smiled shyly and shook her head, tugging him back down to her with a hand around his neck. It was just as their lips touched again that the door flew open and they jerked apart, Sandor swearing viciously and Sansa blushing the color of her hair. In the doorway stood a grinning Arya, the foreign exchange student she had befriended being pulled behind her, a somewhat embarrassed look on his face.

"Go on, get outta here," the younger Stark said far too cheerfully, nudging her friend into the pantry. "It's our turn."

Glaring at his girlfriend's little sister, Sandor stormed out into the kitchen, and Sansa meekly followed, stopped only by a hand on her elbow as Arya leaned toward her with a growing smirk. "Your guests are _dying_ to talk to you..."


	4. The Office

**A/N:** So this is a super mundane one-shot based off of The Office, which I'm currently watching with my boyfriend. We just got to season three, but I missed a few episodes of season two because I wasn't 100% focused, so I used the main storyline of season one for the very light plot of this. I also used the sort of documentary style of it for a couple of side conversations with one or both of them outside of the 'plot' context. And for anyone who knows The Office and A Song of Ice and Fire, here are the character equivalents for you: Sandor is Jim, Sansa is Pam, Tyrion is Michael, Loras is Ryan, and Cersei is Dwight. Needless to say, I had fun with this one. Thank you to **Mari88** , **Soi** , and **magnus347** for reviewing 'Out of the Closet', and I hope you like this one too.

 **Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin.

 **Rating:** K. Sandor got toned down for this one.

* * *

"So, anything interesting happening on your side of the office today?"

Sandor swipes a handful of candy from the jar on Sansa's desk and raises his eyebrow when she looks up, seemingly startled by his silent approach. Upon realizing who it is leaning against her desk, her expression softens and she smiles, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Not really. Tyrion's practically locked himself in his office so he can try to avoid his meeting with Petyr Baelish," she casts a glance at her watch and adds, "who's apparently on his way down from corporate right now."

Sandor nods thoughtfully, casting a glance at the drawn blinds of their manager's office. "So naturally, that means that Cersei thinks she's in charge now."

* * *

"Cersei..." Sansa sighs and tries to think of a way to speak her mind while remaining polite and courteous. "She's..."

"Crazy," Sandor supplies without hesitation. "Certifiably insane, I'm telling you. You should ask her what her position is."

At that, Sansa giggles, and can't help herself. "She's managed to convince herself that Tyrion made her assistant regional manager."

Sandor nods, grinning in amusement. "The little guy hates her with a passion, so we all know what nonsense that is. She's really..." He casts a glance over at the woman beside him and she laughs again, finishing with him. "Assistant _to the_ regional manager."

* * *

"So I heard that you got employee of the month last month," Sansa says, changing the subject and returning to the email she was composing. "Congratulations."

"Mm. Yeah. Thanks. Love the new parking spot. The cake that Tyrion ordered was pretty good too. Wish you could've been there to have some and to see me with my plaque." He leans in and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Not gonna lie, it was pretty impressive."

Sansa laughs and shrugs slightly, typing away. "I see it on the wall every time I walk through the lounge. Besides, I was out with Joffrey. It was our three year anniversary."

Sandor turns, raises his eyebrow and mouths, 'Three years of being _engaged_.'

"It was really sweet," she continues, oblivious to his opinions on her extended engagement. "He took me out to the new Italian restaurant not far from here. And he got me this." She moves a manicured finger to the line of her sweater and pulls out a diamond necklace.

Sandor looks at it briefly before his eyes move to her face. "Beautiful."

* * *

The big man sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. "So this guy, Joffrey Baratheon, he works in the warehouse, but only because Tyrion, our regional manager, is his uncle. I mean, the guy is like," he squints and holds up two fingers, barely even an inch apart. "this big. Can't even lift the boxes. And he and Sansa have been engaged now, for, what did she say? Three years. And he buys her all these little things. A diamond necklace…some new heels…a bouquet of flowers…but he won't just give her what she actually wants: a wedding!"

Realizing that he's raised his voice, he sighs again and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, rubbing them wearily. "But you know what, if she's happy, then I'm happy."

* * *

She blushes and tucks it back under the neckline. "Yeah. But like I said, congratulations. I heard it was because you were our top salesman. _Again_."

He grins cheekily. "Well, the customers don't get to see my irresistible charm over the phone, but they also can't see my face, so they can't turn and run. I suppose it's the rich timbre of my voice that draws them in." He lowers it even further and his smile widens when Sansa looks up at him and rolls her eyes.

"People would not turn and run..."

His eyebrow lifts again and he looks over toward the new temp, Loras Tyrell, who hastily looks away and busies himself with a stack of papers on his desk. "Oh, really."

She laughs. "Okay, he doesn't count."

"Sure he does," Sandor scoffs. "If he can stop being afraid of Cersei for long enough to be scared of me, then I really must look bad."

Sure enough, Cersei's glaring at Loras from her desk next to Sandor's and drumming her blood red nails rhythmically against the wooden surface. The handsome young temp is doing everything in his power not to make eye contact with either of his two coworkers.

The sound of the phone on Sansa's desk jerks them both back to attention and Sandor props his elbows on her desk and looks down at her when it makes it to a second ring. "You gonna answer that?"

She eyes it for a moment in contemplation before giving a half-hearted shrug. "I'll just let it go to voicemail. He isn't taking any calls anyway."

* * *

The pretty receptionist frowns slightly and plays with a strand of her hair before sweeping it behind her ear. "Mr. Lannister is..." She sighs and her frown deepens. "Well, he _is_ a good boss. Just…unorthodox, I guess. Always quick with a joke when the moment's right. ...or even if it isn't. He's very kind to us all though."

She nods, seemingly satisfied with her answer, then starts to speak again after a few seconds. "This thing with Mr. Baelish though has gone a little too far. He's been calling at least twice a day for the past two weeks trying to get ahold of Tyrion, but he's just been avoiding the calls or forwarding them to me, so now he's coming all the way here from corporate to see him and Tyrion seems determined to barricade himself in his office to avoid the inevitable."

She sighs and shakes her head almost sadly, looking off toward the office in which her boss is currently hiding.

* * *

"And how exactly is making Petyr come down a better option than just answering his calls?"

Sansa tosses her hands up in exasperation. "You don't think I asked him that very same question? He's just too stubborn for his own good and he doesn't want to have to let anyone go."

At the mention of the imminent downsizing ordered by corporate, they both frown in obvious worry and after a moment, Sansa lightens the mood again with a weak smile. "Well at least you don't have to worry about getting cut, Mr. Perfect Salesman."

Sandor grins at that and gestures vaguely toward her. "Neither do you. Why would he fire the prettiest girl here?"

A slight blush rises to her cheeks at the overt compliment, but she hastily turns away, fingering the chain of her necklace and biting her lip. An awkward silence falls between them as Sansa sends her email and Sandor shuffles his feet.

The sound of a door breaks the tension as Tyrion briefly appears, fixing his gaze on the pair by the reception desk and pointing his finger at his receptionist. "You. Sansa. In here, now."

Standing, she straightens her skirt and gives Sandor a small smile, squeezing past him and hurrying towards their manager's office.

He watches her go for a moment in silence then calls out just before she closes the door behind her. "Good luck!"


	5. Long Distance Lovers

**A/N:** So...first off, I'm sorry it's been a while. I had to have surgery and the recovery period lasted longer than I had anticipated. I'm feeling much better now though, and I have this chapter here for you. When I started it, it was going to be a fairly short, hopefully funny smut one-shot. It became a twelve page, still hopefully funny, very smutty one-shot. It was inspired by some of my own worries as I prepare to make my relationship with my boyfriend of two years long distance in a little over a month. Plus, Arya and Jaqen got their smut debut the last time I posted and I figured it was these two's turn. Thank you to **magnus374** for reviewing 'The Office', and credit where credit is due to Bethesda's _Fallout: New Vegas_ for giving me the idea for the first book that Sansa tries out with one of its quests, and to good ole _Cosmopolitan_ magazine for the lines that Sansa's looking at at the beginning. Read on, and I hope you enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin.

 **Rating:** Definitely M, for Sandor's mouth, and for some pretty graphic sexual content. If you don't like that, don't read it.

* * *

 _Just dreamt I was your sex slave last night. It was hot...very hot..._

Sansa groaned and dropped her head onto the table, banging it against the surface a few times in frustration. There was no way she could ever say something like that. This was hopeless.

Some three weeks ago, she had allowed herself to be dragged to the local bar with Myranda and Margaery and after one too many drinks had admitted that she was disappointed with the lack of passion in her long distance relationship with Sandor. They had been dating for over two years, and she had never had any complaints before, but since she had transferred to a college a few states away for her junior year, the distance had put a stop to their fairly newly developed intimacy. Naturally, her friends were more than eager to help her solve her problem and so here she was for the third night in a row, hidden in a back corner of the campus library with a book titled _"Wang Dang Electronic Tango"_ open on her lap.

It wasn't even the idea of it that bothered her. If phone sex was the way to remind Sandor of what they had, then so be it. Everything she read just sounded so silly, and so very unlike her.

Sighing, she lifted her head again and flipped to a different page. Maybe there was something a little less...forward, that she could start with.

She took her phone from her purse and set it on the table beside her, opening her message thread with Sandor and tapping her fingers idly on the screen while she perused the newly opened page.

 _If you can guess what color my panties are, then I'll give you a blow job when you get home._ Well, the distance certainly made that one impossible, unless he was willing to guess now and wait two months for her next break to get his reward. She absently lifted the hem of her jeans away from her hip and glanced down. Blue. He probably wouldn't guess that anyway.

 _Just saw something really hot that made me think of you._ Boy did library shelves turn her on.

 _I just had the dirtiest thought about you ever. Too dirty to text—wow, I'll tell you about it later._ No. Just...no.

 _What's the hottest thing I can do for you when I see you?_ That...wasn't too bad. Sexy enough without making her want to gag, and it might make him a bit more anxious for the next time they were together. She chewed on her thumbnail and glanced back at her phone before sighing heavily and typing out the message. Sending it before she could second guess herself, she locked her phone again and leaned back, shutting the book with a loud _thump_.

The sound made her jump and she hastily looked around the nearly empty library, hoping that no one had noticed her. When the smattering of other students appeared wholly focused on their own work, she exhaled in relief and returned the book to its proper place before gathering her things and making her way outside.

It was already well past sundown, but the apartment she shared with her two friends was close enough to the edge of campus to make her feel safe walking by herself after dark. Within five minutes, she was at the door, shoving her key into the lock and shouldering her way into the apartment. Myranda was sitting on the couch watching TV when she entered.

"Hey, girlie. Any luck this time?"

Sansa blushed, wishing that she hadn't told her friends about her worries. Never in a million years were they going to let her live it down—especially not if it worked.

She gave a half-hearted shrug and dropped her purse onto her bed before going to the fridge for a bottle of water. "I don't know." Myranda seemed unsatisfied with her answer but let her go into her room without further interrogation.

Her phone was still inert when she checked it, so she began to undress, shimmying out of her jeans and replacing her top with one of Sandor's t-shirts that she'd taken from him the last time she'd been at home.

As she was returning from the bathroom, her phone lit up from its place on her bedside table and she all but ran to it, perching on the edge of her bed and opening the waiting message.

' _You could wear that new skirt you sent me a picture of the other day...'_

She could feel the blush rising to her cheeks as she imagined the look on her boyfriend's face when he saw her in the short lace skirt she had recently purchased. He was typically a physical lover anyway, but whenever she ended up wearing something that fell above her knees, he was insatiable.

Unfortunately, he had done exactly what he was supposed to. She had an in now to tell him exactly how much she wanted to feel his hands under that skirt, but she found herself frozen. The book hadn't prepared her for anything more than initiating a sexting session. What was she supposed to do now?

Panicking, she briefly considered running out to ask her roommates before losing her courage and hanging her head in shame as she responded.

' _Okay. Well, I'm going to bed. Good night. I love you.'_

She was already tucked firmly beneath her blankets and ready to stay there for the rest of her pathetic and cowardly life when she got his reply.

' _Night little bird. Sweet dreams. Love you too.'_

* * *

Goodbye _Electronic Tango_ , hello...what? A deep frown tugged at Sansa's lips as she wandered through the library, her fingers skimming the shelves.

"Ooh, what about this one?" Myranda held up a book with a scantily clad and busty woman illuminated on a cell phone screen on the cover and Sansa blushed as she waved it away impatiently.

She didn't want to feel dirty when she was doing this. She just wanted to remember how it felt to be intimate with Sandor. It had seemed to be so long ago that they had last had any time alone together. The last time she had been at home, they had only managed to get an hour together, and that one in public so the most they had managed was a slightly less than innocent kiss that had ended at an emphatic clearing of the throat from the table next to them.

It wasn't that she was unhappy. She knew that they were still very much in love, and they had grown to be good enough friends over the past few years that they still had things to talk about—and did, every day. It was just that…well, since they had start sleeping together, she was having a hard time going from feeling so close to being so far away. She wanted to be able to feel the closeness of their physical relationship while they were apart, and it seemed like this was the only way.

"What do you think of this?" She gingerly removed a thin volume from the shelf in front of her and eyed it somewhat warily. _"The Young and the Cordless: A Guide to Phone Sex in the Modern Age"._

Myranda crossed the aisle and looked over her friend's shoulder, raising a brow and then nodding. "Sure. Open it up and take a look. It's up to you, girlfriend. I know you would turn as red as that gorgeous hair of yours if Marg and I just sat you down and taught you how to do this, so it's hittin' the stacks for you. I would never rely on a book for relationship advice."

"Yes, thank you, you've made that very clear," Sansa said impatiently, turning the book over and reading the blurb on the back cover. "But I like to do research before I jump into things."

Myranda snorted and crossed her arms over her chest, accentuating her already prominent cleavage. "I bet you read up on how to give head on wikihow before you tried it on ole Sandy didn't you?"

Sansa ignored her and continued reading, hoping that her blush wouldn't give her away; because, yes, she had in fact done exactly that. In her defense, though, her research had paid off. Or so she assumed. Sandor had certainly never complained.

Her friend's sharp laugh let her know that her attempt had failed and she shot her a glare before opening the book and idly flipping through it. It looked a little more informational than the last one, so she shut it again and tucked it under her arm.

"You actually gonna check it out instead of hiding in your corner?"

Sansa nodded and blushed. "In case I need it tonight."

Myranda laughed and sauntered toward the self-checkout, slinging her arm over her best friend's shoulders. "Go get 'im, tiger."

* * *

That evening, Sansa got a bit of a surprise. As she was cleaning up her dishes from dinner and settling down on the couch between Randa and Margaery to watch a movie, her phone vibrated in her pocket and she absently checked the waiting message.

 _'I miss you, little bird. Wish you were here.'_

The text in itself wasn't unexpected. Sandor tended to get sappy when she was gone for extended periods of time, and she had had a heavy homework load that day so they hadn't talked as much as usual.

It was what happened next that surprised her. Without even consulting the book beneath her pillow, a response formed in her mind. _'What would you do to me if I was?'_ When her brain caught up with her fingers, she stared wide-eyed at what she'd typed, her heart hammering nervously in her chest. How did she do that? _Why_ did she do that? He was just trying to be sweet. Would he care if she took it that direction? Would he think that she only wanted him for sex?

Deciding that she was worrying too much, and rather proud of her newfound ability, she sent it and snuggled back into the couch, ignoring the curious looks she was receiving from both sides.

The movie had barely started when the next vibration came and she carefully shielded her screen from view. _'Bury my head between your thighs and stay there until you screamed my name.'_ Sansa gave a strangled gasp as her cheeks flared with a hot blush and she shifted her legs, suddenly uncomfortable. And aroused. Mostly aroused. Less than a minute later, her screen lit up again. _'You alone?'_

Shoving her phone into her pocket, she stood up and looked toward the back of the apartment. "I...I have to...go to the bathroom."

Margaery and Myranda exchanged a knowing look and the former gave her an innocent smile. "Of course, Sans. Take as long as you need."

Her blush deepened at the insinuation and she hurried away, ignoring the catcall Randa threw at her retreating form. Just as she closed the door, her phone rang and she answered it breathlessly.

"Hello?"

"Hello yourself, little bird."

At the sound of his voice, her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, sitting with her back against the door. "Sandor..."

She could hear him chuckle and knew that he could tell from her heavy breathing that she had received his text. And enjoyed it.

"You sure you want to try this, Sansa? If not, you can just tell me about your day. You know I just love hearing your voice." He loved… _she_ loved hearing _his_ voice. That deep rasp of his never failed to send pleasant shivers down her spine.

"I love hearing your voice too," she replied, desperately trying to even her gasps for air.

At that, Sandor chuckled again and she could almost see his teasing grin. "Why do I feel like you mean that far less innocently than I did?" All she could manage was a whimper and she heard the smile in his voice when he spoke again. "I take it you do want this then. I have to say, I've never done this before, but I think I've fucked you enough times to know where to start."

Good lord, she was a quivering mess already. How was he so good at this while she couldn't even manage a full sentence?

"What are you wearing, little bird?"

Of course. Why hadn't she just said that? It was the most well-known phone sex line in history. Being unoriginal was at least better than being totally ignorant.

"Umm...jeans."

His laugh was softer that time. "Yeah? Jeans? Are they the ones I like? The skinny ones that make your legs look like they go for miles and make that perfect ass of yours look good enough to eat?"

Yes, actually. Those were the ones. "Yeah."

"Mm...you look damn good in those jeans, little bird. I'm wearing the button down you bought me for my last birthday. The yellow one that you like so much."

"Do you have the sleeves rolled up?"

"Yes, ma'am."

There was nothing sexier than his perfectly tanned forearms underneath the pale yellow of those sleeves, and the curl of dark hair that sometimes escaped from the collar of his white undershirt.

"I was about to get out of it and take a shower," he continued. "But this is much better than just jerking off in the shower to thoughts of you."

Another whimper escaped her lips at that and she wet them absently with her tongue. "You can still do that."

When he responded, his voice was deeper, rougher. "Do what, little bird?"

Her breath hitched in her chest. "Touch yourself."

She was met with a moment of silence before he growled in reply. "Fuck, Sansa. Only if you do too."

She blushed at that. The first time he asked her to touch herself, she had been mortified, but the look of pure desire in his eyes as he had watched her come undone had done more than enough to convince her that it may not have been as terrible as she had always thought.

"Okay."

His laugh was short and breathless and he let out a small groan into the phone, echoing her teasingly. "Okay."

She could hear the sound of his zipper and her eyes fluttered shut as she pictured him, phone cradled between his shoulder and cheek as he fumbled with his jeans. Her own fingers crept slowly downward, but before she reached her belt, he swore loudly. "Shit! Fuck!"

Her eyes snapped open and she could feel her blush deepen as she stammered into her phone. "What is it? Did you...already..."

He sounded impatient when he responded. "No. I want you, but I'm not a teenager anymore. It's your father."

She paled at that and the simmering arousal in her gut swiftly evaporated. "What?"

"Your father. He's here. I forgot that he and Catelyn invited themselves over for dinner tonight. Shit. I've gotta go, little bird. I'll call you later."

Damn it, Dad.

"Oh, okay. I love you."

"Love you too."

* * *

The golden opportunity came almost a month later. By then, Sansa had read a few more books and was feeling good about her ability to voice her desires in the event of another steamy phone call. In addition, she and Sandor had exchanged a few flirty text messages that had bolstered her confidence, and she felt more than ready to try again.

So when the Friday evening came three and half weeks later and she found herself alone in her apartment, she was ecstatic. Randa was at a frat party across campus and Margaery was at work in a department store downtown. These moments were rare, and after Sansa took her time showering and shaving, she had a nice quiet dinner and put on her new skirt with a pale blue blouse that brought out the color of her eyes.

Settling comfortably across her bed, she opened Skype and couldn't help the thrill that ran through her when she saw the little green bubble beside Sandor's name. Her fingers skimmed lightly over the keyboard before she began typing.

 _'I have the apartment all to myself tonight.'_

The chime of a response came less than a minute later. Good. He was just as eager as she was.

' _Is that so?'_

She smiled. _'Yup. Marg and Randa are both out for at least the next few hours.'_

 _'It just so happens that I'm alone too.'_

Her teeth bit absently at her bottom lip as she tried to hide her growing smile.

 _'What a coincidence.'_

Their banter beginning to infringe on their time together, the video call window popped up and Sansa answered it with a wide grin, taking in the surprisingly clear image of a dressed up and goofily grinning Sandor that appeared.

"The picture's good tonight."

He nodded in agreement and sat back, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Good thing too. I'll want to be able to see you _very_ well." A blush crept to her cheeks at his words and she could see his smile grow in response.

"God I miss you," she murmured, wanting nothing more than to be able to reach through the screen and feel his skin beneath her palms.

His smile softened and he nodded again. "I miss you too, little bird. And you look beautiful tonight."

Her blush deepened a bit and she smiled shyly. She had tried to make a point to dress up a little and put on some makeup whenever they had a chance for a Skype date, and she knew that he thought it was just about the cutest thing in the world.

"Thank you."

A comfortable silence fell over them as they took in each other's images and after a few minutes, his smile grew sly again. "Is that your new skirt?"

Her heart fluttered and she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. This was supposed to happen. They had planned for this to happen. She just wasn't sure if she would be able to go through with it now. It felt different thinking about it hypothetically as she read about it. This...this felt real. But that was what she had wanted in the first place wasn't it? Yes, she decided. Yes it was.

"Yes. You want to see it?" Sandor nodded eagerly and she laughed at the look of almost boyish excitement that shone in his deep grey eyes.

Carefully balancing her laptop beside her, she sat up and raised a leg, bending it at the knee so the skirt fell to her mid-thigh, revealing a few more inches of her long, pale leg. She could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and his eyes darkened as he took in the new view.

"It's pretty. That color looks good on you."

Her full red lips curved into a smirk. "Mmhm? You want to see how it looks off of me?"

His eyes widened in surprise and she could see his hands grip the edge of his keyboard as he nodded again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Making sure that she was still visible to the webcam, she moved her hands to the waistband of the skirt and slowly pulled it down, revealing a few centimeters of her newly purchased lacy white underwear at a time as she went until it was tossed onto the floor of her room.

Sandor's eyes were nearly black when she settled the computer back on her lap and he stared at her for a few seconds before speaking. "I think I like it better off."

She giggled nervously and wiggled her hips a little, getting more comfortable and watching him as he followed the movement. "Your turn."

Apparently, elaboration wasn't necessary, because she had barely spoken when he set to work unbuttoning his grey dress shirt. It came off quickly, and she took in the sight of his bare chest as he met her gaze again. She missed resting her head against the steady beating of his heart as she fell asleep. Being away from him left an ache in her chest, but seeing him like this again eased it, even if only for the moment.

"You're so handsome," she murmured quietly, smiling when a slight blush rose to the unburnt side of his face. "I miss being able to feel how strong you are when you touch me."

"I miss touching you."

She laughed lightly and her heart fluttered at his answering grin. "Tell me what you'd do then. If you were here." This didn't feel as awkward as she thought it would. It was just the two of them, separated by hundreds of miles, but as together as they could be given the circumstances.

He licked his lips again and eyed her for a moment before speaking. "I would kiss you first. Push you into your mattress and kiss you until you couldn't breathe. Until you turned away and leaned back so I could kiss your neck. I'd do it the way you like it; softly, with just enough suction to make you feel it, but not enough to leave a mark."

Sansa sighed and closed her eyes, trailing her fingers lightly across her neck and imaging that the resulting tingle was the soft brush of his lips against her skin. "What next?" She whispered when he quieted for more than a few seconds.

She could hear him clear his throat and he exhaled shakily before continuing. "Next I'd...I'd move lower. I'd push your shirt aside and kiss the freckles on your shoulders."

She smiled. It was so cute when he did that.

"Take off your shirt for me, little bird."

Her eyes fluttered back open and she met his desperate gaze for a moment before pulling it off over her head and revealing the deep red bra beneath. "I'm sorry I'm not matching," she said as she leaned back against her pillows again. "My white bra's in the laundry right now."

Sandor gave her a look. "You think I give a fuck if they're matching? You're gorgeous no matter what you have on."

Sansa smiled and cocked an eyebrow. "You know what I'd be doing while you were occupied with my freckles?"

"Mm...no. Tell me."

She watched him closely as he eyed her from beneath hooded lids. "I'd kiss behind your ear, and then take your earlobe between my lips and suck on it until you got distracted enough to stop kissing me. You'd grab my hips, just for something to hold to, and you'd groan when I licked that spot under your jaw, just hard enough to feel your pulse." He let out a low groan just thinking about it and she reveled in the haze that clouded his eyes.

When he shifted restlessly, she gave him a knowing smirk and raised her eyebrows. "Those pants getting a little too tight?"

"A little?" He snorted and she laughed.

"Take them off then."

Apparently getting somewhat impatient, or, at the least, extremely turned on, he saved a step and when he returned to the frame, he was completely naked. Sansa took a moment to enjoy the sight as he sat down and grinned cheekily. "Your turn."

Rolling her eyes, she bit her lip to hide her smile and reached behind herself to fumble with the clasp on her bra. Sandor watched as she wiggled out of her panties and when she stretched out in front of her laptop, he let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding. "You're a fucking beauty, Sansa Stark, you know that? So perfect."

She blushed beneath his gaze but seized the feeling in the pit of her stomach and pushed forward. "How badly do you want me?"

He laughed through clenched teeth, an almost pained expression on his face. "So fucking badly, little bird. Can't you tell? I would give anything to be inside you right now. I bet you're already dripping wet, aren't you?"

Blushing hotly, she closed her eyes and nodded.

"Show me."

Very much aware of his gaze, she dropped a hand between her thighs and ran one of her fingers through the damp auburn curls there. Meeting his eyes, she withdrew it and held it up to the webcam, her breath hitching when he swore under his breath and took himself in hand.

"Shit. I need to..." He trailed off and she nodded in understanding, her eyes fluttering closed at the sudden rush of arousal as his hand began to move.

Pushing aside her insecurity, she dipped her hand back down and imagined that it was his long, talented fingers pressing against her instead of her own inexperienced ones. Regardless, she was aroused enough by the sight before her that her own touch was enough to send a shock of pleasure up her spine and she let out a moan as her back arched into the movement.

Sandor managed a vague gesture toward her chest and let out a stream of curses when she lifted her free hand and toyed with one of her pebbled nipples. They fell into silence as they each watched the other, low moans and stifled cries of pleasure the only sounds between them.

Right as Sansa felt the tight coil in the pit of her stomach beginning to unravel Sandor let out an impressive string of profanity and she watched as his face contorted in pleasure, vaguely wondering if she should take a screenshot to capture the moment. Although he couldn't understand why she found his scrunched up orgasm face attractive, he humored her nonetheless whenever she watched him come undone with a happy smile on her face.

Not particularly wanting his undivided attention as she chased her own release, she increased the pace of her fingers and was squirming, teetering on the edge, when she heard Sandor speak. "Little bird…" His voice was soft and he had a dreamy look on his face as he watched her. His hand lifted from its place across his stomach and he softly traced the line of her jaw as it appeared on his screen. "I love you."

Those three words, and the look of adoration and sincerity in his gaze made her unravel, and her unbridled cry of pleasure as she trembled covered the sound of a door opening somewhere else in the apartment. A vaguely familiar sound tried to force its way to her ears, but it wasn't until she lay panting and weak on her bed that she recognized it.

Applause. From outside her bedroom door.

Sandor chuckled and Sansa covered her face with her hands as a bright blush flooded her cheeks. Yes, she decided. Telling Margaery and Myranda about her dilemma was undeniably, irrefutably, the _worst_ decision that she had ever made.


	6. Purgatory

**A/N:** Not exactly sure why this idea came to me, but it did, so I ran with it. This isn't my favorite of the ones I've written, but I think it turned out alright for what I was intending, so it ended up here anyway. Thank you to **magnus374** and **tini243** for reviewing 'Long Distance Lovers', and I hope that anyone reading this enjoys this chapter as well.

 **Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin.

 **Rating:** T for some language.

* * *

The first time he saw her, he thought she was a ghost. He had turned away from the half-dug grave before him for just a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow when he caught a glimpse of fiery red hair. When he blinked again, it was gone.

The second time, he knew. He awoke from a nightmare to see a figure in the corner, and when he got up and reached for her fleeing form, his hand slipped through the space that her arm inhabited.

The next morning he went to Elder Brother and did what he had somehow managed not to in the time that he had been at the Quiet Isle. He asked for news from the outside world.

After hearing about the growing army of the Dragon Queen and the death of Tywin Lannister, he heard what he had most feared. Sansa Stark had disappeared the night of Joffrey's wedding and had resurfaced months later in the Eyrie as the bastard daughter of Petyr Baelish. Her true identity had only been revealed after her death, when she had been thrown from the infamous Moon Door by a jilted young bard who had been swiftly executed for his crime. Lord and Lady Baelish were said to still be in mourning.

When she appeared next, she didn't try to run. He had a feeling that she had heard what Elder Brother had told him and knew that he was aware of her death. She was sitting at the edge of an unfinished grave he had started the night before, swinging her pale legs and staring intently at the pile of dirt.

He almost veered away from his path when he saw her, but with a deep breath, he steeled his nerves and continued walking. She looked up when he arrived and bent to retrieve his shovel, giving him a small almost nervous smile. If he was correct in his assumption, she was just as wary about their reunion as he was.

Neither of them spoke a word as he worked, but when the sun had risen high in the sky and she still remained silent, he broke his vow. If talking to a spirit could be considered such.

"Why are you here, little bird? You...you're..." she met his gaze expectantly and he shrugged his broad shoulders in defeat. "Dead."

She looked sad as she nodded, then tapped her throat. Not understanding, he furrowed his brow and shook his head. Frowning, she looked up at him with a heavy pout and then wrapped her slender fingers around her neck, miming being choked before throwing herself into the grave between them. He instinctively lurched forward to prevent her fall, but his hand swiped empty air as she reappeared at her starting point with an amused smile.

So she couldn't speak. His heart fell at the thought. As much as his nickname for her had started to mock her, he had grown to enjoy and almost miss the soft sound of her chirping. A sound he would never hear again. "The bard had to choke you to death _and_ throw you out that damned Moon Door, eh? Bastard."

She seemed perturbed by his words, but, unable to speak, she couldn't explain her discomfort. Instead, she turned away and stared down into the grave, her hands folded in her lap. Unsure of what else to say, he lapsed back into silence and after a few hours, she got up and wandered off, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

* * *

The next day she joined him again, carefully exploring the graveyard as he worked. When she finally settled again, sitting down on the ground and absently running her hand through the growing pile of earth, he spoke.

"I traveled with your sister for a while, you know." At the mention of Arya, her head jerked up and her bright, Tully blue eyes grew wide. "Stole her, really," he amended, scuffing his bare feet in the dirt. "I was going to bring her to your mother, but then..." He trailed off and Sansa looked away, her lower lip quivering. Wanting nothing more than to erase the expression of pain on her beautiful features, he hastily continued. "I was going to take her to your Aunt, in the Eyrie." When he saw the first tear slide down her pale cheek, he realized his mistake. He had been so close to her. He could've saved her. But again, he had simply left her behind.

"In the end all I got for it was an infection. Your sister left me to die, you know. If Elder Brother hadn't found me in time, I think I would've. Would I have had to wander through Westeros like you are if I had or would I have gone straight to the deepest of the Seven Hells?"

Sansa frowned at him but shrugged. She didn't seem to know why she was there in a purgatory of sorts rather than in the heavens that the priests of the Seven preached about. He found that he didn't really care to know. She was there, that's what mattered. And just as beautiful as she had been in life, if not even more so now that she was a woman grown.

"Do you remember the night of the Blackwater?" She looked away when he asked, but nodded, absently running a finger across her lips. He sighed. "I should've taken you with me. It's my fault you're dead. If I had forced you to come with, you never would've been married to the Imp, or taken by Littlefinger, and you'd still be alive now."

At his admission of guilt, she raised her head again, a deep frown pulling at her lips. Rising, she shook her and walked over to him, resting one of her pale hands against his arm. He couldn't feel the pressure, but the sudden drop in temperature at the spot where her fingers lay made him shiver in surprise. For a moment she simply stared sadly up at him before pulling away and miming throwing a cloak over her shoulders and using it to ward off an imaginary chill.

He was surprised that she remembered. "Aye. I left you my cloak. It was ruined anyway. And I was done with that life." When she kept her hands tucked inside the invisible cloak that her actions had conjured to mind, an expectant look on her face, he frowned. "You kept it?"

She smiled brightly and nodded, happy that he had understood. He ignored the old feelings that rose in his chest at the thought of her wrapped in his bloodstained Kingsguard cloak and gave a noncommittal shrug as he continued shoveling. "The one good thing I ever did for you."

With his face turned to the grave, he couldn't see her look of disbelief, and he jerked away when her icy fingers met his cheek, leaving behind the sting of her blow. She stood before him, teetering on the edge of the grave, her hands on her hips and a look of righteous fury on her petulant features.

He stared at her in disbelief then threw his hands in the air, raising his voice. "What, little bird?!"

Still scowling, she thrust her arms in his direction, revealing the undersides of each, pale and covered in bruises that would never fade. His anger cooled swiftly at the sight.

"Did that bard do this to you?"

Again, her expression shifted at the mention of her killer and she waved away the comment, gesturing toward her shoulders where the scars from her abuse at the hands of Joffrey's guards remained.

"I know," he growled. "I couldn't protect you."

Angrily, she shook her head and stomped one of her delicate feet against the ground. When she opened her mouth, he could see the words on her lips, though no sound accompanied them. _'You did! You were the only one who ever did!'_

Unable to accept what she was saying, he turn and fled, slamming shut the heavy wooden door to his room and hoping that it would keep her at bay.

* * *

That night, his dreams were plagued with guilt. Memories of all the times that he had stood by and watched as Joffrey had her beaten. Of Arya, accusing him of the murder of that butcher's boy. Of Gregor, shoving his face into the coals. But mostly of Sansa, and the look of fear in her eyes when he had told her all the 'truths' of the world.

She was there when he woke, wrapped around him, her hands cooling the sweat on his brow as he cried and curled into her embrace. When he could speak again, his voice cracked with the emotion he had tried so desperately to hide for so long. "I'm sorry, little bird. I'm so sorry."

The cool touch against his chin made him raise his gaze and he saw everything in her eyes that she could not say. _Don't be. You were always there for me. You couldn't have known what would happen. I've forgiven you. Forgive yourself._

The guilt festering in his heart since the night of the Blackwater had kept him from doing that for so long that he wasn't even sure if it was possible, but when she laid her hand against his burned cheek and pressed her lips to his, he knew that he could, if only because she had asked it of him.

And so it was, lying on his pallet, a brother of the Quiet Isle, that the Hound was finally laid to rest. As his anger and self-loathing ebbed away, so too did the woman that he had tried so hard to protect. Her purpose achieved, Sansa Stark was given the peace that she had sought, and though she never saw him again, she was never far from the gentled heart of the man that she had loved.


	7. Always

**A/N:** I know that apologies are just ignored a lot of the time, but really, I am sorry that it's taken me so long to update. I started college this fall, and instead of giving me more time to write like I thought/hoped it would, the opposite turned out to be true. But now I'm home, the time I dedicated to my studies earned me a 4.0, and I'm writing again. Thank you to anyone who's stuck out my absence, and I hope that this makes up for it. It's pretty much just fluff, and modern fluff, because that's easier to write. Thank you to **Mari88** and **tini243** for reviewing _Purgatory_ , I hope that you all enjoy this, and Merry Christmas!

 **Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin.

 **Rating:** M for language and pretty obviously suggestive/sexual content.

* * *

 _Five..._

The first time he saw her, she was five years old. There was a pink paper party hat perched atop her auburn curls and when she saw him lingering by the fence, her pudgy little face lit up with a smile. His heart stopped at the sight, unsure of the last time that his face had been met with anything but revulsion.

"Would you like some cake?"

She had descended from her crudely crafted birthday throne and was standing on her tiptoes at the edge of the fence, peering up at him curiously.

His first thought was to sneer and reject the offer of the strangely courteous toddler. He was ten after all, a mature fourth grader who had no business at the princess themed birthday party of a little girl half his age. But when his stomach rumbled and he remembered his breakfast, buried deep in the trash thanks to Gregor, he nodded.

Ever the attentive mother, Catelyn Stark had overheard the exchange and was at the front door with a friendly smile the moment he conceded.

"You must be our new neighbor," she said as he timidly approached the porch. She faltered when she saw the scars, her eyes flashing with alarm, fear, and then pity as her smile returned, weaker than before. "Ned said he saw the moving trucks just yesterday."

An uncomfortable silence reigned, but it was broken before it grew too long by the soft footfalls of the birthday girl, plate in hand. Her smile still wide, she held it up to him, displaying a large slice of vanilla cake with a good two inches of fluffy pink frosting. His stomach growled greedily at the sight and he flushed in embarrassment, but accepted the offering.

Sensing his discomfort, Catelyn drifted back to the party, and the little girl watched her mother go for a moment before turning back to the stranger before her and lifting the edges of her dress in a curtsy. "Good day, sir. My name is Lady Sansa."

Caught with the piece of cake shoved unceremoniously in his mouth, her guest gaped for a moment before speaking thickly around the frosting. "I'm not a sir. Just Sandor."

* * *

 _Eight..._

It was a few weeks before Sandor turned thirteen that he found himself in a starched black suit, standing beside his sister's grave. His blank stare as the preacher droned on gave no indication of emotion, but the dark circles beneath his eyes belied his recent lack of sleep.

His father stood nearby, shoulders shaking with silent tears as he cried into his hands. Gregor was nowhere to be found, having run away from home sometime in the hours before Elinor's body had been found. An investigation was underway, but without concrete evidence, nothing was guaranteed.

As Elinor's casket was lowered into the awaiting grave, Sansa left her mother's side to stand next to the boy who had quickly become something of an older brother to her and her younger siblings. She slipped her tiny hand into his already much larger one and looked up at him with a serious expression.

"Do you wish that you could fly to heaven and see her again?"

Though Sansa and Elinor were similar in age, the Clegane girl was often too sick to leave their home and as such, they had seen little of each other. For the younger Starks, her death was nothing more than something that affected their friend.

When he cocked an eyebrow at her, Sansa continued. "Mother says that when somebody dies, they go to a place called heaven, and that's it up there above the clouds." They both looked up at the gray sky for a moment in thoughtful silence. "She says that's where my aunt Lyanna is. And my Uncle Brandon too. Sometimes I wish that I was a bird so I could fly up there and meet them."

She looked startled when Sandor dropped to his knees and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Don't say that, Sansa. That's no place for you. Stay here with me, little bird. Please."

Though she may have been too young yet to understand death, his plea was simple enough, and her quiet response was what sent the first tears spilling down his cheeks.

"Sure, Sandor. Always."

* * *

 _Thirteen..._

After Elinor's death, Sandor had changed. He smiled less, laughed almost never, and spent a majority of his time listening to heavy metal loud enough to damage his hearing. With the change came a motorcycle, a drop in grades, and the decision to join the military.

It was the day of his departure for basic training that the Starks decided to throw a farewell party. If a modest gathering of only the aforementioned family and their honored guest could be considered a party.

Sandor was glad for the chance to say a proper goodbye to the family that had all but taken him in so many years ago, but it was only ten minutes in that he retreated to the library for some quiet solitude. Upon entering, he found Sansa curled up on the window seat with her nose deep in a contraband romance novel, likely from her friend Myranda.

"You know you shouldn't read those, little bird. They're all nothing but bullshit."

She sat up in alarm and shoved the book behind a pillow, a blush rising to her cheeks as she realized who had discovered her. "I think they're quite romantic," she retorted, absently running her fingers through her hair and smoothing out her skirt.

Sandor snorted in derision and stood for a moment in the doorway before crossing his arms over his broad chest. Even as a child he had been bigger than most of the boys his age, but after puberty, he had grown to an intimidating 6'7" and his intensive preparation for basic training had earned him muscles that strained against whatever fabric tried to contain them. It wasn't the first time that Sansa had looked at him with butterflies in her stomach.

"Why weren't you out there with the rest of your family? Don't you want to say goodbye?"

She hesitated for a moment before sighing and putting on a weak smile. "Of course. Goodbye, Sandor. And good luck."

"You know I don't believe in luck, little bird."

"Well then..." she faltered and rubbed at a wrinkle on her skirt. "Just...be careful. I don't want you getting hurt."

Sandor nodded slowly in acceptance of her words before turning to go. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

When he turned the corner, she felt the first tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and viciously wiped them away. _Yes_ , she agreed. He would be fine. _But will I?_

* * *

 _Eighteen..._

"Mom! I need to go to the mall, but Margaery can't make it out tonight! Could you drop me off there on your way to pick up Rickon from soccer practice?"

Sansa tottered downstairs in a pair of three inch heels and planted herself in the doorway to the kitchen, resting a hand on her hip and arching one perfectly manicured eyebrow at her mother.

"I'm sorry, dear," Catelyn said absently as she flitted about, searching for her purse. "I'm already late as it is and I really can't afford to make a stop. Ask your sister if she has any friends that could take the two of you."

Sansa sighed dramatically and turned her full lips into a pout. "But, mom...Arya hates going shopping. She'll say she doesn't just to spite me. And besides, all of her friends are like...freshmen."

Catelyn cast her oldest daughter a look that brokered no room for argument. "Go ask. Or just accept that you won't be going to the mall."

"But, mom—" At the pursing of her mother's lips, she turned with a huff and retreated to the living room where Arya was engaged in an intense game of co-op Halo with Sandor, who had returned home for the next few months between completing his officer's training and leaving for his first deployment.

"Arya," she began, casting a cursory glance at the television screen. "I need to go to the mall and mom and Margaery can't take me. Do you have any friends that could?"

As she had anticipated, Arya hardly gave her any attention, just snorting and continuing her assault against the Covenant. "No. My friends are too cool to want to go to the mall anyway."

Sansa stomped her foot impatiently and crossed her arms over her chest. "Arya Stark! I need to go and find a prom dress! It's next weekend. I need to go _now_."

Rolling her eyes, her little sister stuck out her tongue and Sansa was about to begin the usual series of bribes that were necessary to convince Arya to do much of anything when Sandor put aside his controller and stood up.

"I'll take you, little bird. Just give me a minute."

Ignoring Arya's protests, he crossed the room and paused for a moment beside Sansa. Her heart beat faster as his grey eyes bore into her and after a moment, she looked away, a bright blush flooding her cheeks. He gave a noncommittal grunt and departed, only appearing again to order her to his bike.

The ride to the mall was silent save for the sound of the wind as it whipped past them. Sansa clung tightly to the broad chest of the man in front of her, willing herself not to inhale too deeply when the breeze carried the faint smell of his cologne to her nose.

The silence remained even when they reached their destination. On a mission, Sansa led the way to the nearest dress shop and began pulling items from the racks as Sandor trailed behind, hands shoved deep in his pockets and a scowl on his face.

"Wait here," Sansa commanded as she swept into the dressing room, myriad gowns in tow. Always obedient, Sandor seated himself outside of the area into which she had disappeared and she set to work trying on the first of many dresses.

"What do you think about this one?" Sansa's voice rose with the question and then fell into a murmur as she answered it herself. "I don't think I like the color. It washes me out. And the bodice is a little too loose. Hm, no. Definitely not this one."

Sandor didn't even bother looking up.

A few minutes later, she emerged again, and went through the same routine. In all honesty, she was glad that Sandor wasn't paying much attention. None of them had been particularly flattering so far.

Some twenty minutes passed in much the same fashion before she came back out again after a longer pause between dresses.

"I think this might be the one. It fits well, and I definitely like the color. I think it will go with the nail polish I just ordered. What do you—Sandor, look at me."

He lifted his eyes from the screen of his phone and she saw his expression shift as he looked her over. A heavy silence fell between them and Sansa began to fidget when Sandor finally spoke, clearing his throat and shifting his legs a bit as he shrugged.

"Looks good, little bird."

His answer elicited a frown and she turned back to the mirror behind her. "Really? Just "good"? I was hoping for something a little bit better. I mean, this is my senior prom after all. And I have to look perfect." She tried to quell the bitter churning of her stomach. She was going to the prom with Joffrey Baratheon, the most popular boy in school. Why should she care about the opinion of the man she had always thought of like a brother?

"I—"

Sansa turned at the sound of his voice and cocked an eyebrow.

"I just...well, I meant. I should've said..." He wiped his palms on the coarse fabric of his jeans and started again. "You look beautiful."

His eyes were dark when they met hers, and the queasy sensation in her belly quickly evaporated, replaced by the inexplicable heat that had come along with thoughts of Sandor for the past few years.

 _No_ , she mused to herself as she held his gaze. _Definitely not like a brother._

* * *

 _Four months later..._

"Sansa? Where are you going so early?"

She froze at the front door and turned to see her father sitting at the kitchen table, his newspaper flattened out before him as he peered at her from above his reading glasses.

"Just going over to see Sandor, Daddy." She replied, hoping that he couldn't see her blush. "I wanted to make sure I had the chance to say goodbye."

Satisfied, Ned nodded and returned to the news, leaving Sansa to hurry out the front door with a sigh of relief.

After Sandor's father had died and Gregor had finally ended up in jail, if only on a minor charge, their house had gone up for sale, and unwilling to live in a home with such painful memories, Sandor had accepted the money from it and bought his own apartment just outside of the neighborhood.

Deciding not to borrow her mother's car for a three minute drive, Sansa opted for walking instead, making her way slowly down the sidewalk in her high heels and tugging self-consciously at the hem of her skirt. Thankfully, her father hadn't questioned her choice in attire. More likely than not, he had assumed that she would be going out with Margaery and Myranda after saying her farewells to Sandor.

Her resolve faltered momentarily when she reached the door of his apartment, but she steeled her nerves and knocked once. When no reply came, she knocked again, louder.

"Sandor?"

The sound of muffled movement came from inside before the door flew open to reveal a scowling and disheveled Sandor wearing nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants. "What the fuck do you wa—Sansa?"

She stood there for a few seconds too long, gawking at the sight of his bare chest, and when she finally dragged her gaze to his, he had a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

Blushing hotly, Sansa dropped her eyes to her feet and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry it's so early. It's just...you know what today is, right?"

After a moment, he nodded. "Yeah. I know what today is. So I guess this is you coming to say goodbye then?"

Sansa nodded back, trying hard to even her suddenly labored breathing. "I guess. I..." she laughed nervously. "I've known you for so long. Basically my whole life. You're like my..."

When she hesitated, he answered for her. "Brother?"

Her heart sank and she desperately tried to fight back the tears that threatened to fall. "Yeah...Yeah. So, just…goodbye, I guess. I'll miss you."

Sandor cocked an eyebrow. "You didn't seem this broken up when I moved away."

Sansa shrugged and avoided his searching gaze. "I always knew you would be coming back someday though. Now, I'm the one who's gone. It's just..."

" _Different,"_ they finished together, before laughing quietly.

A somewhat awkward silence followed and Sansa turned to go, struggling to keep her composure as she reached for the front door. When her fingers hit the knob, she faltered, and then whirled around again, stalking toward Sandor and jabbing a finger into his chest as he stared down at her with comically wide eyes.

"You know what? No. I came over here so that after thirteen years, I could finally tell you how I feel. You may just think of me as a little sister, but I...I..."

She was cut off when Sandor grasped her firmly by the hips and pulled her into him, silencing her with a kiss. Caught by surprise, she stiffened for a moment before relaxing and sinking into his arms, her lips parting slightly as she sighed. When they finally pulled apart, both were flushed and breathing heavily and Sansa brought her fingers absently to her bottom lip.

"Oh...but I thought..."

Sandor frowned, shaking his head. "No, little bird. I only said that because I didn't think you could ever see me as anything else. But me? I never thought of you as my little sister. I've known since the day we met that I wanted you. Not like this, at first, of course, but with time, you were all I could ever think about. Do you know how many nights I spent away these past few months, having to keep quiet when I couldn't stop myself from getting off to thoughts of you? You're fucking perfect, Sansa, and I'm...not."

Sansa smiled so wide that her cheeks began to hurt, and shaking her head, she laughed happily and wrapped a hand around his neck. "Shut up and kiss me."

Now knowing what they both wanted, the second kiss was far less innocent, and Sansa couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips when Sandor swept his tongue across hers. Sandor groaned with each soft sigh she uttered, and when she dragged him closer to eliminate the space between them, she gasped and took a step back.

"Oh."

Clearly embarrassed by her reaction, Sandor backed away and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. It's just...you, finally, and I just woke up anyway. I didn't mean to scare you, little bird. You should probably go..." He trailed off when he saw the look of amusement on her face. "What?"

"You didn't _scare_ me, Sandor. I'm eighteen now, I know about all of this. It just...surprised me, is all. I've never actually done this before..."

She couldn't help but feel a little bit hurt by his look of surprise.

"But what about your prom night?" He asked hesitantly. "I heard your date telling his friend that he had rented a hotel room for the night, while they were waiting for you and Margaery."

Sansa just shook her head, resting her palm against his chest. "I never wanted Joffrey. Or anyone else. I've only ever wanted you."

The rejoining of their lips eliminated the need for further conversation, and Sansa found herself pressed against the front door of Sandor's apartment, his mouth on her neck and his hands locked firmly around her hips. Experimentally, she shifted against him and felt a flare of heat between her thighs when Sandor groaned and pushed back against her.

With each second that passed, their desperation increased, and within minutes, Sansa was stepping out of her skirt as Sandor dragged her top off over her head. He paused for a moment to enjoy the view before burying his face in her tousled hair and inhaling deeply.

"You're so beautiful, little bird," he murmured. "So perfect."

Emboldened by his response, she reached around to unclasp her bra and let it fall with a gentle thud before guiding one of his large hands to her chest. Her panties followed, and Sandor watched her squirm and moan beneath his fingers for only a moment before she was impatiently undressing him and seeking the friction of his bare skin against her own.

In the end, they made it the few feet to Sandor's couch before finally seeking fulfillment in each other, and it was as their breathing returned to normal in the post-orgasm afterglow that Sandor spoke again, his voice muffled by the arm slung across his face.

"You're leaving for college tomorrow."

Sansa nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his scarred cheek. "You said you knew that."

"I did," he conceded, lifting his arm and moving it to wrap around her thin waist. "But I don't think it really hit me. And besides, how am I supposed to let you go now? Shit, Sansa. I just fucked you. Do you even realize what this means?"

"It means," she replied with a faint smirk, "that we'll be spending my breaks in an entirely different way than we had previously thought." When he didn't respond to the joke, she sighed and offered him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, okay? I may not be here anymore, but I'll be _here_." She brushed her lips across his chest, right above the steady beating of his heart. "And I'll stay with you there. Always...remember?"

The worry vanished from his features and he captured her lips in a tender kiss. "Always."

* * *

 _Twenty-one...  
_

"San...Sandor! Oh...oh god...yes! Mmm..." Sansa arched her back and buried her fingers in his hair to keep him from moving.

Her boyfriend chuckled in amusement and raised his eyes to meet hers, hazy and unfocused as they were. "I've missed you, little bird."

"Shut up and keep going," she growled in response, glaring down at him as he laughed again and moved one hand to give her a cheeky salute.

It was right as the echo of Sansa's passionate scream was fading that the doorbell rang, and they both froze for a moment. When it didn't come again, Sandor let out a sigh of relief and crawled up to lie beside his girlfriend, gathering her into his arms.

"Whoever it was must have left."

Even before he finished speaking, they heard the front door open and Sansa pushed him away, eyes wide with panic. "You didn't lock the front door?!"

Sandor frowned and snapped back at her, not too keen on being blamed for their situation. "I just wanted to be with you again. Besides, you didn't lock it either!"

"Well it's _your_ apart—"

"Sandor?"

He ran a hand back through his tangled hair and closed his eyes. "Fuck me."

"I already did," Sansa muttered, earning such a vicious look that she had to hold back a laugh despite the circumstances.

"Just...wait here." Getting up, he retreated into the adjoining bathroom before returning with a towel around his waist and moving to the bedroom door. "Don't make a sound."

Quietly, Sansa got out of bed and tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear against it.

"Hey, Mr. Stark. Sorry about the door. I would've gotten it for you, but I was just getting out of the shower. What can I do for you?"

Ned sounded a bit confused when he replied and Sansa desperately hoped that her father wasn't seeing any of the discrepancies in Sandor's story. "I was just looking for Sansa. Arya said that she thought she saw her come over here, but...I guess not, if you were...in the shower..."

Sandor laughed nervously and Sansa resisted the urge to bang her head against the door. Maybe her father was finally catching on. It had, after all, been over three years since they had first started sleeping together. In fact...maybe...maybe it was time...

In a moment of immense courage—or stupidity—she grabbed the sheet from off of the bed and wrapped it around herself before opening the bedroom door.

"Hi, Daddy..."

* * *

 _Roughly one year later..._

"Wow, it's dead in here tonight. Guess we'll get great service."

Sandor nodded absently and pulled out Sansa's chair for her before putting his suit jacket across the back of his own. "Mmhm."

A waitress flitted over as he took his seat and smiled warmly at the couple. "Good evening, Miss Stark, Mr. Clegane. What could I get you to drink?"

Sansa briefly scanned the menu before looking up with a smile. "I'll have a glass of your Chateau Ste. Michelle please."

"And for you sir?"

"Scotch. On the rocks."

She left them alone at their table and Sansa raised an eyebrow when she noticed her boyfriend's absent expression. "Are you alright, Sandor?"

He blinked a few times before mustering a small smile and moving his hand to cover hers. "Yeah. Sorry. Just have a lot on my mind. Have I mentioned that you look absolutely stunning tonight?"

She blushed lightly and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Thank you. You look rather handsome yourself. Is there any particular reason that you had us dress up and come to the nicest restaurant in the city?"

He grinned crookedly and shrugged. "Only the best for my girl. Besides, it's nice to get out like this. It's been a while since we've had any time to ourselves."

"I know," Sansa countered with a smirk. "That's why I'm surprised that we're not spending it against your bedroom wall."

"Mm." Sandor took a drink of his scotch as the waitress placed it before him. "Just give it a few hours."

Laughing lightly, Sansa shook her head in amusement and sipped at her wine, eyeing him affectionately over the rim of the glass.

Their meal passed without much excitement, consisting mainly of good food, comfortable silence, and the occasional loving gaze shared between mouthfuls of pasta. It was a nice change of pace from the hectic past few weeks, and they enjoyed every peaceful moment together away from the prying eyes of younger siblings and overprotective parents.

Sansa had just pushed aside her plate when the waitress reappeared and lifted it from the table. "Are you ready for your dessert, Miss Stark?"

"Dessert?" She groaned half-heartedly and put a hand to her stomach. "I'm going to have a hard enough time getting out of this dress as it is."

The waitress smiled slightly and added, "It's lemon cake. Specially made."

At that, Sansa cast a look of exasperation at Sandor before sighing. "Oh, alright. I suppose I can make some room."

When she returned to the kitchen, Sansa raised an eyebrow at her boyfriend. "Really? Are you trying to fatten me up for any particular reason?"

Sandor laughed and smirked devilishly. "Hoping it'll all go to your ass I suppose."

Scandalized, Sansa gasped and swatted at him with her napkin before giggling. "You're terrible."

"But you love me."

Her expression softened and she laid a hand gently on his arm. "Yes. I still love you."

He met her gaze and was just moving to lean across the table and kiss her when the waitress appeared with the cake, effectively spoiling the moment. Smiling apologetically, she set the plate between them before retreating and leaving the two of them alone again.

"I can't believe no one else has come in tonight," Sansa said in disbelief, her eyes roaming across the rows of empty tables. "This place is usually so popular."

"It was reserved for a private party tonight," Sandor replied off-handedly before handing her his knife. "Here, I'll split it with you."

Distracted from his initial response, she nodded, a slight frown still apparent, before taking the knife and cutting through the middle of the cake. Just as the knife sliced to the bottom of the cake, it hit a solid object and Sansa stopped, puzzled.

"I think there's...something in it. Should we send it back? Oh, I don't want to be rude..."

Sandor smiled in amusement and shrugged indifferently. "Just pull it out. I'm sure it's nothing that would hurt us."

Nodding begrudgingly, she set the knife across the edge of the plate before gingerly reaching into the cake and withdrawing the object inside.

She froze when her fingers curled around the slender silver band and she looked up to see a slightly nervous grin across her boyfriend's face.

"Do my parents know about this?" she whispered. Ever since Ned had found out about their relationship, things had grown a bit more strained between Sandor and the heads of the Stark household.

He nodded. "I asked your father before I even bought it."

A brief silence fell between them before Sansa smiled shyly and looked between Sandor and the ring. "Don't you have something to ask me then?"

Startled, his eyebrow rose and he cleared his throat, fidgeting a bit in his seat. "Oh. Yeah. Umm..." He took the ring from her fingers and gently wiped it off with his napkin before taking her hand and holding it above the proper finger. "Sansa Stark...would you do me the honor of marrying me?"

Nodding, she wiped at the corners of her eyes before breaking into a wide, happy grin. "Yes."

* * *

 _Eight months later..._

"Do you, Sandor Clegane, take Sansa Elizabeth Stark, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"

"I do."

"And do you, Sansa Elizabeth Stark, take Sandor Clegane, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"

"I do."

"Then in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

The applause from those gathered before the altar was loud and joyous, but to Mr. and Mrs. Clegane, nothing else existed beyond the soft brush of their lips, and the love in their eyes as they pulled apart to gaze at each other.

"I love you, Sandor Clegane," Sansa murmured, standing on her toes to give him another quick kiss.

Sandor smiled and placed his hands around her waist, drawing her towards him until her forehead rested against his own. "I love you too, Sansa Clegane." He leaned in and she could feel the ghost of his lips as he whispered against her mouth. "Always."


	8. Come into My Castle

**A/N:** So hey there. I still exist. And so does this story. Sorry for the long wait, and I'm hoping I won't go so long without posting again. This semester just got pretty busy and I wanted to focus on one of my other stories that I had previously neglected. Anyway, this one is an AU in which Robert wins his rebellion and Sandor is taken as a ward by the Starks instead of Theon. Because of this, he doesn't have his burns, which isn't really mentioned, but still. And also I shortened the age gap between he and Sansa, so it's more like 5 years here. Yup. That's all. Enjoy reading, and review if you feel so inclined.

 **Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin.

 **Rating:** M for some strong language and crude humor.

* * *

There were three of them this time, all gathered in the Great Hall with grave expressions as they stood at their fathers' sides. Across from them, Sansa stood quietly between her mother and father, her gaze fixed demurely on the floor.

Since the passing of her sixteenth nameday, her life had been nothing but a continuous surge of interested suitors. So far, none of them had passed her inspection, and she knew that her mother hoped that one of the three before her would be the one to win her hand.

The one on the left was admittedly handsome, with long, soft waves of brown hair that fell to his shoulders and piercing blue eyes. Unfortunately, he seemed to be more focused on his well-manicured nails than the young lady before him.

The middle one was shorter, fatter, and uglier, but had a nice smile that almost made his previous flaws unnoticeable. Almost.

And the last was a mix between the two. He was average looking, but seemed kind and quiet in a way that was appealing rather than off-putting. Perhaps he stood a chance.

Her thoughts were broken by the sound of her father's deep voice.

"Welcome to Winterfell. I hope that your travels weren't too much trouble, and that one of you fine young lords can leave our walls with the promise of my daughter's hand. Ser Rodrik will show you to your rooms so that you can settle in. Your audiences with Lady Sansa will begin on the morrow."

As they walked from the hall, Sansa let out a sigh and Catelyn placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

"Perhaps one of these three will become your lord husband," she soothed, smiling gently.

Sansa nodded, her eyes wandering to the window that overlooked the yard.

Perhaps.

* * *

"They won't last a week." It was said with such confidence that Sansa paused in her eating to raise an eyebrow at the young man beside her.

"And why is that?"

He snorted and shrugged his broad shoulders. "None of the others have."

From her other side, Arya nodded in agreement, loudly slurping up a spoonful of soup. "I second Sandor's motion."

Crossing her arms, Sansa huffed in disapproval. "You're both awful." The two exchanged wide grins and Sansa rolled her eyes, returning petulantly to her meal.

After a few minutes of silence, her friend gave a heavy sigh and looked back over at her. "Fine. So you think one of these puffed-up little lordlings will be your husband? Let's make a wager."

Sansa raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "What did you have in mind?"

Sandor shrugged again and finished off the last of his wine. "I don't know, little bird. What would you ask of me?"

She stayed silent for a long time, pondering her options. She could simply ask him to stop being so cruel to her all the time, but she knew that his jibes were most often in jest, so it would be a waste of a wager to ask for that. As would be asking him to stop calling her by that silly name. Though she would never admit it to him, she had grown rather fond of it.

Finally, she made up her mind and nodded, pleased with herself.

"If you win the tourney that's being held for their arrival, then you must crown me the Queen of Love and Beauty."

Sandor raised his eyebrows and seemed to consider it for a moment before nodding in acceptance. "Very well. So you accept?"

Sansa nodded, extending one of her hands. "I do."

Her friend's grin was feral when he shook her hand and it didn't shrink any when she nervously pulled away.

"May the best man or lady win."

* * *

Sandor Clegane had lived with the Starks since he was no more than a green boy, just barely made a squire for Jaime Lannister at the time of his capture. When the family he was sworn to found themselves on the losing side of Robert's Rebellion, Sandor had been taken to Winterfell as a ward, and there he had grown to manhood alongside the Stark children.

He was not treated as family by the lord and lady of the house, but they were kind to him nonetheless, and he was close to the children, for which he was grateful.

He found the first suitor in the quarters to which he had been assigned, preening in front of a full-length mirror. Sandor stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, trying not to roll his eyes.

"So you're hoping to win Lady Sansa's hand?"

The younger man glanced at him in the mirror, a derisive sneer pulling at his lips. "Of course. Why else would I be here?" He ran his fingers through his hair before frowning and gesturing vaguely toward the other side of the room. "Fetch my brush for me."

Sandor clenched his jaw, but did as he was bid. He stopped for only a moment longer to watch the arrogant young man before shrugging and moving to the door.

"Well, best of luck to you, my lord. I'm not sure if Lady Sansa will find what she's looking for in a man like you, but," He shrugged again. "I could be wrong of course. Good day, my lord."

He was almost to the hallway when he heard the call from behind him. "What was that? What did you mean? Come back here."

Sandor's lips curved into a smirk and he strode back to the doorway, leaning in with his eyebrows raised. "Pardon me, my lord?"

The younger man turned to him, lips pursed in irritation. "You said that the Lady Sansa might not find what's she's looking for in a man like me. What did you mean by that?"

"Oh, it's probably nothing...I shouldn't have even mentioned it…"

"Tell me. Now."

Sighing heavily, Sandor looked about conspiratorially before stepping back into the room. "You didn't hear this from me, but…recently, Lady Sansa has become rather put off by all those courtesies that a lord like you is taught. She thinks it makes a man too feminine if he wipes his mouth at meals and opens doors for her. Things of that nature. I'm sure it's merely a passing phase, but she's been quite taken with the idea of late."

He could see the young lord carefully pondering his words before smiling dismissively. "Interesting. Thank you for this morsel of information. I believe it will be of great use. You may go now."

Bowing low, Sandor thanked the young lord-to-be for his willingness to listen before leaving him behind, a satisfied smile making its way across his face.

* * *

"Have you decided what you want from me if none of these three suitors proves worthy of my hand?"

She could hear him approach even before he spoke. As big as he was, it was difficult for Sandor to tread lightly.

He entered her field of vision and leaned against the weirwood tree, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Hmm...I don't know, little bird. It's a big decision to make."

Sansa sighed and lifted her head to give him a decidedly unamused look. "Surely there can't be that many things you would want of me."

The look in his eyes shifted briefly from amused to serious at that before he shrugged and scuffed one of his boots in the fallen leaves. "I suppose I have thought of something."

Rising from her knees, Sansa brushed the dirt from her skirts and looked up at him, her eyebrows raised. "Very well then. What is it?"

His smile grew roughish and he took a step forward until he was all but pressed against her, his breath warm on her face. "If all three of them turn away at the end of this whole affair and your hand remains your own, then you must play a game with me."

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a bright blush spreading to her cheeks. "A game?"

Sandor nodded, his eyes carefully roaming her features. "Aye. A game of Come into My Castle. Just the two of us."

Sansa frowned up at him suspiciously. "You hate that game."

Her friend shrugged noncommittally and stayed silent. Finally, Sansa acquiesced. "If that's what you want, then. Though I dare say we're a bit old for that now."

Suddenly, and rather without warning, Sandor began to laugh and there was a predatory gleam in his eyes when he met her gaze again. "Oh, Sansa...I dare say we're just old enough."

* * *

"Lady Sansa, I present to you Lord Edric of House Hightower."

It was the pretty one that entered, his hair brushed to a smooth shine and his outfit designed carefully to match the striking blue of his eyes. Sansa blushed slightly and dropped into a curtsey. "Good evening, my lord."

One eyebrow rose slightly at the gesture and he waved her away dismissively before taking his seat. "What has the cook prepared for us tonight?"

Flustered, Sansa gaped at him for a moment before hurrying to her seat. After a moment of struggling with her chair, her father rose and pulled it out for her, earning a grateful, albeit wholly confused, smile.

Looking just as puzzled as her daughter, Catelyn frowned slightly before replying. "Roasted duck, I believe."

The young man pursed his lips at that and shrugged slightly. "Well I hope it's good."

A long, uncomfortable silence followed and Sansa couldn't help but let out a small sigh of relief when the cook arrived with their meal.

"Mm...this looks delicious," she remarked with a smile, looking over at her guest for the evening. When he gave no sign of agreement, her smile faltered.

In an effort to salvage the evening, Eddard began to serve himself and the others followed suit in what would prove to be the only few pleasant moments of the night. Once their plates had been filled, Sansa and her mother lowered their heads, folded their hands, and began to pray.

 _Mother, thank you for this meal, and may it help me to grow up healthy and even more beautiful each day. Father—_

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of metal on porcelain and she opened her eyes to find the young Lord Hightower with his fork in a balled fist, tearing apart the meat on his plate and shoving it unceremoniously in his mouth.

Beside him, Ned's own fork had stopped halfway to his mouth and Catelyn's typically schooled gaze was openly incredulous. Embarrassed and confused, Sansa tried to keep the tears from her eyes as he continued to ravage his meal and after what seemed like a lifetime, he finally finished, putting an end to the horrid sounds of chewing with an open mouth.

"Did you...enjoy your meal, my lord?" After his grotesque performance, her own appetite had been thoroughly ruined.

Edric nodded and turned to face her, but when he opened his mouth to speak, all that came out was a loud and rancid belch.

Shoving herself away from the table in horror, Sansa struggled to even her breathing and keep the bile from rising in her throat as she spoke. "I...I...I don't feel well!"

And with that, she fled.

* * *

"So, how was the honorable Lord Edric of Hightower?"

Sansa sniffled and tried to wipe the tears from her cheeks, turning her back on her unwanted company. "He was horrid."

"Horrid? That's a rather strong word you've chosen, Lady Sansa."

Whirling around, she stared up at Sandor in disbelief and balled her hands into fists. "You weren't there! He was horrid! _Horrid_ I tell you! He acted with absolutely none of the courtesies expected for a man of his standing, ate like a _barbarian_ , and then, when I tried to salvage the evening he...he _belched_. Right _at_ me!"

Wrapping her arms around her waist, she began sobbing anew. "Can you even imagine?"

Chuckling quietly, her friend nodded, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Yes, I think I can as a matter of fact."

When Sansa glared up at him he sighed and lowered himself onto the bench beside him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry that he upset you so, little bird, but aren't you glad that you found out now and not on the night of your wedding?"

Sniffing, Sansa leaned into his touch and shook her head vehemently. "If the others are anything like him then I swear to the Seven I'll become a Silent Sister. I would rather live a life of such as that than marry a lord like him."

Her crying began to quiet as she rested her head beneath Sandor's chin and it was as her breathing began to even that she heard him murmur against her hair.

"And that would be such a shame."

* * *

The second was Lord Patrek Vance, a rotund young man with a constant flush and a bad set of lungs. Sandor found him watching wistfully from the edge of the yard as two guards circled each other in a sparring match.

"Do you fight, my lord?" He asked, leaning against the fence and cocking an eyebrow at the little lordling.

Patrek looked up at the tall, muscular older man beside him and shook his head with a sigh. "No. I'd give anything to be able to though. At least then there would be something interesting about me to tell Lady Sansa."

Sandor hummed absently in response and pretended to watch the two men before replying. "Yes, Lady Sansa does love a man who can hold a sword. More than that though she just likes one who can speak well of his accomplishments."

"Oh?" The younger man looked positively distraught, and Sandor almost had to feel sorry for him.

"Oh yes," he replied, keeping his expression even. "One of the other lords who tried for her hand spent all of his days talking about himself and how much better he was than everyone else, and she fell head over heels for him. The only reason they didn't get betrothed is because they found him fooling around with one of the kitchen staff and sent him away. Scandalous as that was, she didn't seem to mind knowing that he was experienced in such things."

Patrek's frown deepened and his cheeks colored slightly at the insinuation. "Are you certain?"

"Certain as can be," Sandor said, crossing a finger over his chest where his heart lay. "I would never think to lead you astray, my lord. I wish only the best for Lady Sansa."

 _And may the best be the one to win her hand._

* * *

"Tell me about yourself, Lord Patrek," Sansa said with a smile, lifting a lemon cake from the plate between them and taking a small bite.

After the disaster with Lord Edric at dinner, Sansa had opted for a light midday meal instead, by the window in her father's solar. It was a pleasant day, and the sunshine lighting up the room already had her in high spirits. Patrek Vance may not have been a handsome, man, but she was sure that he was kind enough to make up for it.

"What about myself?" He responded, lifting one leg onto the window seat and resting an elbow upon it and his chin upon his fist to stare out at the yard below.

Sansa's brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but she maintained her friendly smile. "Tell me about your interests," she prompted.

"My interests..." The look of assumed pensiveness seemed strange on his pudgy features. "I'm interested in many things, Lady Sansa. My strengths lie in jousting, song, poetry, swordplay, and making love."

Sansa's eyebrows rose and she stopped with her lemon cake halfway to her lips, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment. "You're...awfully forward about your...strengths, my lord."

He cast her a brief glance, his expression haughty. "Shouldn't I be? I'm the best at what I do. Set me against any man and I'll prove it to you. I could even beat your man Clegane in the sword."

Sansa looked out to the window to where Sandor was sparring with Robb, his muscular chest tanned and gleaming with sweat. As though aware of her gaze, his eyes rose for a moment, and a half-smile graced his lips before he focused on the fight once more. Sansa looked away and took a sip of water, suddenly warm.

"You said poetry, did you not?" She asked politely, trying in vain to steer him away from his gloating.

"Why yes, my lady," Patrek replied, finally taking a seat across from her. "Would you like me to compose a poem for you?"

Relieved, Sansa nodded. "Yes, please, my lord. That would be simply charming!"

Nodding, Lord Vance cleared his throat and began to speak. "Lady Sansa, with your face so fair. You are as pretty as my father's best mare. Graceful, kind, and full of poise, I'm sure that you could get all of the boys."

Sansa's expression had shifted from delight to confusion and incredulity during the course of the young lord's "poem" and she managed a weak smile when he flashed her a self-satisfied grin.

"Is that all? That was...lovely," she replied rather lamely, eating the rest of her lemon cake as an excuse to refrain from further comment.

As he launched into a musical rendition of the same piece, far too out of tune to be considered even decent, Sansa sighed and gazed out the window once more, wondering if perhaps she had missed her chance with Lord Edric.

* * *

"Lord Vance looked rather glum when he passed by earlier." Robb had taken a break to retrieve a pitcher of water and Sandor moseyed over to where Sansa sat in the wooden stands beside the yard, leaning against the fence. "Did your lunch not go well?"

Sansa sighed and continued to embroider sullenly. "I'm afraid not. He spent the entire time bragging about how talented he was, and then as if that wasn't bad enough, when he demonstrated his so called strengths, he was horrible! Just...awful. I've never heard such terrible poetry or song in my life, and I had to practically hold him back to keep him from marching down here and challenging you to a fight!"

Sandor laughed and pushed his hair back from his forehead, watching as Sansa's gaze followed the movement before returning to her stitching.

"I should have liked to see him try."

Sighing again, Sansa shook her head sadly and then blushed before looking up again, her expression one of disbelief. "You know what else he did? He actually had the nerve to tell me that he was gifted in..." Her blush deepened and she lowered her voice slightly. "Making love."

Trying her hardest not to smile, she shushed Sandor as he guffawed loudly and then rolled her eyes. "It was like Lord Davros all over again. Do you remember him? The one that got caught with Bessa, the kitchen maid?"

Sandor's mouth quirked up in a smirk and he nodded. "Yes, I do remember him."

"Taking a break, eh, Clegane?" Robb called out as he returned to the yard, shaking out his wet hair and downing a glass of water. "Too tired to continue?"

Raising his eyebrows, Sandor glanced over his shoulder before shrugging and turning back to Sansa. "My apologizes, Lady Sansa, but I do believe your brother needs a good beating. May the last lord prove better than the rest."

* * *

Sandor was just getting dressed after a bath when he heard a knock at his chamber door and he abandoned the lacing of his tunic to go answer it. When he opened it to find the last visitor standing outside, his expression shifted to one of surprise. For once, he hadn't had to seek out the suitor himself.

"May I help you?"

"Yes," the younger man replied. His name was Lord Desmond Piper, if Sandor remembered correctly. "I was told by Lady Arya that you were the one to talk to about Lady Sansa. You were raised as their brother were you not?" His voice was quiet, soft, and entirely too nice.

Sandor's expression soured slightly. He had certainly never thought of Sansa as his sister.

"I suppose you could say that," he responded drily. "What is it you wanted to know?"

"Well," he began quietly. "The other two lords have already been sent away and I would say that doesn't bode well for me. I was wondering if you knew what it is that Lady Sansa looks for in a...a partner, I suppose. Well, in a man."

Sandor eyed Lord Piper carefully. He was average looking, but not unattractive, and seemed gentle, kind, and well-bred. Exactly what Sansa tended to look for in a man.

"Well..." Sandor began. "Lady Sansa considers herself an intellectual above all else. She reads almost every night, prides herself on her skills in cyvasse, and has nearly every love song and story memorized, as well as many of the family histories of Westeros."

At that, the young man smiled, his expression becoming hopeful. "I read quite often as well!" He remarked happily. "And I've beaten my father at a game or two of cyvasse. I'm afraid I don't know many of the love songs, but I do know quite a few of the family histories. Perhaps I didn't need to worry after all."

He turned to go, but Sandor yanked him back by his tunic, pulling him forward and forcing him onto his toes to accommodate for the older man's superior height. "I wasn't finished."

Desmond sank back to his feet and brushed off his tunic. "Oh. Of…of course. My apologies."

Sandor waved him off and leaned against his doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "Like I said, Lady Sansa considers herself an intellectual, and she isn't keen on a man who knows more than she does. She likes to feel well-read and worldly, and looks for a man that she can teach, not one that can learn with her."

Lord Piper frowned deeply. "You mean she likes her men..."

"Dumb as a bag of rocks," Sandor finished for him. "The more times he's been hit in the head while sparring, the better. It makes her feel more like a lady to be able to spread her knowledge. Otherwise she'll see you as a threat of sorts."

Sighing heavily, the young lord nodded in understanding, his expression sad, but resigned. "Very well. Thank you for your time, ser."

"Not a ser," Sandor grumbled as he retreated back to his room and closed the door, though not even the incorrect address could dampen his spirits.

Two out of the three had already been sent on their way and the third was soon to follow. He was very much beginning to look forward to their game.

* * *

Sansa paced anxiously across her father's study, wringing her hands and glancing at the door every few seconds. As hopeful as she wished she could be, she was simply dreading meeting with the final suitor. Every good thing about the other two had not been enough to outweigh their glaring character flaws, and she couldn't help but be afraid that it would prove to be the same for Lord Desmond Piper.

Sandor was off gloating somewhere, of that she had no doubt, and she had long since lost her hope of being crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty. The insufferable man was winning by a long shot, and though she knew it was petty, she resented him for it. Just thinking about his self-satisfied smirk had her cheeks coloring with rage.

Yes, it was rage that she felt when she thought of her family's ward, nothing else. Just deep, justifiable anger. Or so she told herself over and over when any other thoughts of him tried to invade her mind.

The door opened, interrupting her thoughts, and Lord Desmond entered, looking slightly more handsome than usual in a powder blue tunic.

"Good morrow, Lord Piper," Sansa said with a smile, dropping into a curtsey.

He returned the sentiment and bowed low, smiling back.

 _Perhaps he'll be the one after all_ , Sansa thought to herself, but somehow, she didn't feel as though that were true.

"Would you be interested in a game of cyvasse, perhaps?" She asked politely, taking a seat on one side of the board. "If you know how to play. It's a game from Dorne, so I understand if you don't know it."

Desmond shook his head and smiled. "I've played before, my lady. Once or twice."

Relieved, Sansa's smile grew. "Splendid! Let's begin then shall we?"

Carefully and strategically, she set up her half of the board, and when Lord Piper announced that he had finished, they revealed their respective starting positions.

As Sansa analyzed his choice, her heart began to sink. Everyone who had ever played cyvasse at least understood that it was the capture of the opponent's king that ended the game, and yet, Lord Desmond's sat front and center, its painted face grinning stupidly.

"I guess I'll begin then," she said weakly. Several minutes passed as she looked over the board, but in the end, she couldn't bring herself to play badly and she moved her dragon to capture Desmond's king on the first turn.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, giving him an apologetic smile. "Perhaps I should have explained the game better first. It's been a long while since you've played, hasn't it?"

"No," the young lord responded with a vacant smile. "I played my father just last week."

Sansa's face fell for a moment before she hastily smiled again. "Oh. Well then, perhaps you just didn't remember that this piece was your king."

Desmond raised his eyebrows and laughed. "He does have a crown on, my lady…" He looked at her as though she were simple and she felt her cheeks begin to redden.

"Yes, he does," she responded through clenched teeth. "And I've captured him, which means I've won. Shall we play again?"

"Of course, my lady," her opponent replied, removing his pieces and beginning to reorganize them.

When the time came to begin once more, little had changed. The position of his mountains were different, but the king remained, dumb and vulnerable on the front lines.

Sansa didn't hesitate to capture it that time, swiping the piece angrily from the board and letting out a heavy sigh. As much as she hated for Sandor to win their wager, she would much rather be forced to play a silly children's game with him than be married to a complete dullard for the rest of her life.

A lengthy silence fell between them as Sansa looked down at the king clenched in her fist, and in the end, it was Lord Piper who broke it.

"Lady Sansa...?" He sounded hesitant and shy, and she looked up to meet his gaze, seeing only confusion and embarrassment.

"Yes?" She asked, suddenly feeling a bit confused herself.

"May I be honest with you?"

Raising her eyebrows, Sansa nodded slowly. "Yes. Please do."

"Well..." he blushed slightly and avoided her gaze. "I wasn't sure if I was the type of man that a lady like you would want to be betrothed to, so I went to Lady Arya to ask her about you, and she sent me to speak with your ward, Sandor Clegane. She said that he knew you well."

Sansa tried to keep her expression even as she exhaled forcefully through her nostrils. "And what did he tell you?"

"That you prefer men that are..." He shrugged slightly. "Dumb, frankly. That you found an intelligent man a threat to your own intellectuality. But I have to say that I'm not sure if he was right about that. You appeared to be getting frustrated when I blatantly disregarded the rules of cyvasse, and—"

"He told you that?" She asked, cutting him off. She could feel the blood pounding in her ears as her hands clenched tightly into fists. The strange behavior of the other suitors certainly made sense now.

Lurching to her feet when he nodded, she gave Desmond a tight smile before moving to the door. "Pardon me, Lord Piper. I need to have a word with Sandor Clegane."

* * *

"You are a liar and a cheat!"

Sandor grinned to himself and then schooled his features as he turned to face the irate young woman behind him.

"Lady Sansa. How good of you to come by."

All but blowing smoke from her bright red ears, she jabbed a finger into his chest. "You tricked me!"

Sandor cocked an eyebrow and frowned. "I did no such thing. I _did_ trick your suitors though and I have to say they proved to be far less perceptive than you, my lady."

"You deliberately sabotaged their attempts to win my hand!" She continued, her tirade still unfinished. "It's almost as if you don't want me married at all! Is that it? Do you want me to die a maiden?"

"Certainly not," he replied, and that was the truth. "But you can hardly call their attempts ruined. You're here now which means Lord Desmond Piper can't play the fool as well as I had hoped. Is he to be your lord husband, little bird?"

Sansa paused at that and hesitated for a moment before replying. "No. I sent him away. He is far too gullible and willing to break confidence."

Sandor laughed loudly at that and her ire returned with a vengeance.

"Our wager is forfeit, Sandor. And I expect a sincere apology."

Sandor opened his mouth to argue, but she was already storming off, yelling once more over her shoulder.

 _"Forfeit!"_

* * *

"Sansa,"

She was already dressed for bed and was carefully brushing through her long auburn hair when Arya made her way to their chambers.

"Do you remember that silly game of manners that Septa Mordane used to make us play? Come into My Castle?"

Sansa glared at her reflection in the looking glass and yanked the brush through her hair, still angry at Sandor for his role in her failed betrothal.

"Yes," she replied tersely. "I can recall it quite clearly."

Arya nodded, oblivious to her sister's sudden change in demeanor, and flopped down across their bed.

"Well, I heard Robb and Sandor discussing it in the yard and apparently, grown men use it to refer to fucking without ladies realizing it."

Sansa's brush clattered to the floor and a bright blush rose to her cheeks. "Arya! Don't be so rude!"

Rolling her eyes, Arya huffed loudly and mocked her elder sister's voice. "My apologies. They use it to refer to "making love"."

Arya's feigned gag was drowned out by the sound of laughter from outside their chambers and Sansa's gaze moved to the door that her sister had left ajar, meeting a familiar pair of steel grey eyes.

He flashed her a grin and a wink and Sansa felt her entire body flush crimson.

 _That vulgar, conniving, treacherous, disgraceful, perfect bastard._

Liar or no, all three suitors were far from Winterfell, just as he had predicted.

Perhaps he had won the wager after all.


	9. Will You?

**A/N:** I suppose I should apologize for it being almost a year since I've posted, but I don't know that that's really what you want to hear, so I'll make it brief. I'm sorry, and I can't promise it won't happen again, because it's busy working two jobs and going to college, but, I will not abandon this, no matter how long it might take me to add things to it. As long as you're all around to read it, I'll be here to write it. As for what we have here, it's just a short chapter in honor of Valentine's Day. Not set then, but just ya know, romance and whatever else. I hope it can somewhat make up for the gap in posting, and just as a reminder, I will take requests if anyone has them, because that might help me write more often since I'd have a place to start from at least. Anyway, enjoy reading and leave a review if you'd like.

 **Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin.

 **Rating:** M for strong language and not subtle but also not detailed sex.

* * *

"Welcome home."

Sansa's heels clicked loudly against the hardwood floor as she walked through the door and she turned around slowly, taking in the space.

"It's smaller than it looks over Skype."

Sandor chuckled and shut the door behind him. "Isn't that good? Cozy or homey or some shit like that?"

"I think the word you're looking for is "cheap"." Her hands lifted to her hips and she frowned slightly. "It could certainly use a woman's touch."

Sandor's eyebrow cocked mischievously and he snaked his arms around her waist. "I know something else that could use a woman's touch..."

Although she rolled her eyes, Sansa couldn't help the sigh that escaped her lips as her boyfriend's mouth found the curve of her neck. "Sandor...at least let me get settled first."

"What's there to settle?" He countered, hands roaming toward her hips. "Your suitcase goes here..." He lifted her hand from its handle and ignored her cry of dismay when it toppled onto its side. "And your clothes go here..." He gestured toward the floor and unzipped her skirt, eyes darkening as it fell to pool at her feet.

Sansa blushed, but didn't hesitate to step out of the garment and return to Sandor's arms. As evidenced by her choice of underwear, she had been expecting a similar housewarming, and her body was warm and flushed in anticipation.

After being apart for the four years that Sansa had spent in college, she had invited herself to move in with Sandor after her graduation, and he had more than willingly allowed it. Three weeks later, here they were.

"Thigh highs?" He asked appreciatively. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Nothing," Sansa replied, turning up her nose. "I wanted to look nice for my meeting with the representative from Parsons."

Sandor hummed in disbelief and thumbed the edge of her lace panties. "These for him too?"

At that she flushed a deeper red and tilted her face toward his. "Maybe not."

"Are they maybe there for your boyfriend? So he can tear them off that perfect ass of yours and then fuck you in his— _our_ bed?"

At that, Sansa smiled coyly and entwined her fingers with his, leading him toward the bed in the corner.

"Maybe..."

* * *

"How do you live in a studio?" Sansa asked, still sprawled across the mattress, her chest heaving. "I feel so exposed without a real bedroom."

Sandor shrugged, one thumb absently traveling along the smooth curve of her breast. "You'd better get used to it, little bird. You live here now too."

She sighed and curled into him, her forehead against his.

"Yes. My mother isn't too fond of the arrangement though."

Sandor snorted. "Why might that be? I can't possibly imagine Catelyn having trouble with the thought of her daughter being passionately ravished every morning, noon, and night by a man such as myself."

Sansa laughed and Sandor couldn't hide his body's reaction to the sound.

"Morning, noon, _and_ night? I'll die of bliss."

"I can think of worse ways to go." He kissed the underside of her jaw and reveled in her resulting shudder.

"It's only because we aren't married," Sansa sighed. "Her illusions about Arya's virginity vanished when she walked in on her and Jaqen in the kitchen, but until now she could at least pretend you had allowed me to retain my purity."

"Well we can fix that," Sandor murmured, his lips descending on hers for a long, slow kiss. When he finally pulled away, Sansa's eyes were hazy.

"Fix what? My purity? I think we both know it's too late for that."

As if to prove her point, her fingers danced along his thigh before landing between them and reawakening his arousal in a sudden surge. Though his resolve faltered, he shook his head.

"No. Why don't we get married?"

Sansa's flush remained and her breath shook unsteadily in her chest, but her eyes cleared in an instant.

"What?"

Sandor met her gaze evenly, nothing but sincerity behind the cloud of desire in his eyes. "Well how about it, little bird? Will you?"

When her shock remained, he rolled over and rummaged through the pile of clothes beside them. After a moment, he returned with a simple, delicate ring between his large fingers.

"Marry me?"


	10. Steel and Silk

**A/N:** Good morning! As luck would have it, I was struck by sudden writing inspiration and have finished an entire story I have yet to post, wrote a one-shot for both of my collections, and got underway on the third part of my main cross-over epic. All during finals week. So, whoops. But what's not good for my grades is good for you guys, cause you get a chapter. This one is the SanSan perspective of my Arya/Jaqen one-shot "Sweat and Steel", which is...ch. 6 I think of A Man and a Girl. You don't have to read that to read and understand this, but I like them both, so if you feel like it, I think you should. So yeah, Roman gladiator AU is the deal for these. Umm...I'll probably have another chapter up pretty soon (like within the next two weeks) because I've been writing so much this past week and am now done with finals. So keep an eye out for that. Also, just a reminder that I will take requests if you'd like to do them, for either new chapters, or continuations of old ones. Even though nobody's outright asked, I'll do one soon(ish) to continue Ch. 1 since a few people have mentioned that in reviews, and while we're on the subject, thank you to **Mari88** and **magnus374** for reviewing Ch. 9. And that's all, so just read and enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin.

 **Rating:** M for strong language, abuse, sexual content, and violence.

* * *

When Sansa was young, she loved the excitement and grandeur of Rome. The palace where she lived with her family was ornate and lavish, and she felt like royalty simply walking its halls.

At ten, her betrothal to the emperor's eldest son, Joffrey, was arranged and while her siblings watched the battles of the arena with excitement and fear, she spent her days dreaming of what it would be like to rule as Empress of Rome.

That all changed when Emperor Robert Baratheon was assassinated, and his closest friend, her father, Eddard Stark, spoke out against the claim of his son to the throne. He spoke of incest and treachery, and for such treason, Joffrey had him executed. That was the day her dreams were shattered.

She had seen hints of Joffrey's cruelty before, but had ignored them in favor of his handsome looks and the false charm that he presented. Her father's execution fully awakened it, however, and he marched her to the battlements where his head lay rotting atop a sharpened spike.

"This is what happens to traitors," he hissed. "I expect you to know better than your father did."

When she tried to tear her eyes away, he struck her, and then stalked away as her lip began to bleed. She heard footsteps behind her a moment later and prepared to hear his taunting voice again. Instead, it was Joffrey's sworn shield who stood behind her, and silently, he knelt before her, bringing a roughspun handkerchief up to wipe the blood from her lips.

Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet his, but the horrible burns across his face forced her to look away, and after a moment, he stood and offered it to her. "Keep it. You'll need it more than I do."

Over the long years that followed, she used the simple brown fabric to wipe away the tears that Joffrey caused, and even though he still frightened her, she never forgot the strange kindness of Sandor Clegane.

* * *

Sandor had first fought for the Lannisters as a boy hardly older than Sansa, and as his prowess in battle became apparent and he grew into a giant of a man, he was given charge of the young prince. He became Joffrey's shadow, and in time, people began to call him the Hound, for his loyalty to the crown and his ferocity on the field of battle.

He had been burned as a child, and whatever handsomeness there may have once been in his features was marred by the horrible scars across his face. He was feared throughout the entirety of the Roman Empire, and for a time, Sansa cowered when he was about.

They had few interactions, and when they did, he was often too drunk to control his mouth, and each time he barked some awful truth that sent the girl skittering away to her chambers. He watched the way she looked at Joffrey with distaste, and wondered when it would be that she realized the truth of his nature. He had sworn to protect the prince's life, but that didn't mean he didn't think the prick deserved to die.

In the end, it took her family's murder to change her, and she stopped smiling as she once had, growing reserved and withdrawn in her grief.

He didn't know why he gave her his handkerchief, nor why she had looked at him the way she had, but as the years passed, he kept an eye on her, and told himself it was because he felt partially responsible for Joffrey's actions.

Two long years had passed since that day when Sandor intervened again, unwilling to watch Joffrey's cruelty toward the girl.

He had been dismissed from his duties as the newly crowned Emperor's sworn shield, and instead had become a gladiator for Joffrey's arena, fighting beneath a snarling dog's helm and cutting down each and every man he fought. He dreamed that one day he would fight his brother in the high walls of the arena and finally kill him for what he had done.

It was as he was returning from a fight that he heard Joffrey's sneering voice from the throne room, and he hesitated for a moment.

"Strip her, Trant," he commanded, and he could hear the sound of the girl's crying over the tearing of fabric. "I want them all to see what it is that I'll have in my bed once we're wed."

Sandor's jaw clenched at the taunt and he strode into the throne room, disgusted by the sight before him. The high lords and ladies of the court were gathered in the galleries and they snickered and sneered at Sansa as her dress was torn from her back. What skin he could see was red with brutal welts, and Meryn Trant still held the sword he had beaten her with in his hand.

Her tears had no effect on the men before her, and when Sandor shouted across the room, she turned her gaze to him, her wide blue eyes rimmed with red and filled with pain and humiliation.

"That's enough!"

For a moment, Joffrey looked as though he meant to argue, but a glance at Sandor's furious expression changed his mind, and he merely dismissed her with a wave.

"Go then," he snarled, and his eyes turned to the older and much larger man, dark with anger. "But don't expect my dog to always come to your rescue."

Sansa's lip trembled as Sandor helped to her feet, and when her ruined dress slipped lower on her body, he tore his cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her to cover her nakedness. With valiant effort, he kept his eyes forward, and tried not to think of how her body had changed with her budding womanhood. Soon, she would have her first moon's blood, and then would be forced to marry Joffrey.

"Thank you," she said quietly as he walked her to her chambers.

He shrugged his massive shoulders and avoided her gaze. "A dog doesn't need courage to chase off rats."

When he left her at her door, she lingered for a long moment, and after that day, she never looked at him the same.

* * *

It was just before Sansa's fifteenth nameday that she woke to sheets soaked with blood, and with trembling hands, she tried to burn them, her eyes wet with tears as smoke filled her room. In the end, her maidservant discovered her frantic attempts to hide the evidence of her flowering, and within a fortnight, preparations for the wedding were being made.

Sansa endured them as she must, but with each day, her heart grew heavier with dread, and when the day finally came, she could hardly breathe over the terror that tightened her chest.

Lords and ladies from all across the empire attended the ceremony, and a fight was held in honor of the new Empress, the Hound against Jory Cassel, one of her father's old men who had spent the time since his execution in the castle dungeon.

The fight was a reminder to Sansa of what became of disloyalty to the crown, and her stomach weakened at the thought of being forced to submit to her husband's cruel whims.

A banquet followed, and Sansa watched as Joffrey's guests drank and laughed. She felt as though they were laughing at her, and not for the first time, she wished that she too had been killed alongside her parents and siblings. Only she and Arya had escaped the sword, and Joffrey had assured her that his men had found her sister and sent her to a similar fate.

"You look like a bloody bird," she heard from behind her, and when she turned, it was the drunken gaze of Sandor Clegane that met her own. "A pretty little bird, always chirping her courtesies."

He sneered and she could smell the wine on his breath as he leaned toward her. "Lions aren't kind to birds." His eyes wandered from her feathered collar to the low cut of her gown, and there was a darkness in his eyes that she found both frightening and exhilarating.

"I'm glad you won the fight this evening," she said quietly, and it was almost true. Though she had once cared for Jory as she had all of her father's men that she had grown up around, Sandor was the only one who had ever tried to protect her from Joffrey, and for that, she was glad he had lived.

He snorted at that, refilling his goblet and emptying it again in one long pull. "That's what I'm made for, little bird." His words were slurred, but there was an anger behind the drunken haze of his eyes. "I killed my first man at twelve. I've lost count of how many I've killed since then. High lords with old names, fat rich men dressed in velvet, knights puffed up like bladders with their honors, yes, and woman and children too—they're all meat, and I'm the butcher."

His teeth bared in a snarl and it harshly twisted the burns across his face. As she once had as a girl, she found herself frightened of him, and she stammered as much as he went straight for a bottle of wine on the long table.

"You're scaring me."

Sandor laughed harshly at that, and his eyes left her to find Joffrey across the room. "It isn't me that should frighten you."

Sansa's heart clenched at that and she looked to her husband, remembering once more what was expected of her on their wedding night.

"He won't be kind to you, little bird," Sandor said darkly, and he spat out the words as though they disgusted him. "They'll call for the bedding soon, and they'll laugh as he fucks you and makes you cry." Sansa's lip trembled, but he merely continued. "Do your duty. Endure what you must and maybe he won't beat you as he does his whores."

Sansa's eyes were wide with terror when they met his, and he left her to her terrible fate as he stumbled away in search of another drink.

Hours later, as Sandor sat in the darkness of his chambers, not even the pounding of his skull could keep the sounds of the cheering crowd at bay. They yelled obscene suggestions through the door and he imagined Sansa within, her pretty dress torn by Joffrey's greedy hands and her face wet with tears as he ravished her. He knew Joffrey would not be gentle, and for a brief drunken moment, he wished that he had fulfilled the darkest of his fantasies and gone to her chambers one night, taking her maidenhead so Joffrey wouldn't have had the satisfaction. Sometimes, he even imagined that she would have allowed it.

* * *

When not beneath her maid's watchful eye, Sansa made herself moon tea, and she drank it every time that Joffrey came to her, his hands around her throat as he grunted and sweat above her. She had heard whispers of pleasure found when with a man, but she felt nothing but pain and disgust when her husband took her.

She drank the tea so that his seed would never grow within her, and she hoped that in time, if he believed her to barren, he would dismiss her and marry another. She would never bear a Lannister child, of that she was sure.

One day, several months after the wedding, Joffrey ordered a fight to honor the visit of a nearby ruler, and he pitted the Hound against Beric Dondarrion. By Joffrey's command, the outlaw turned gladiator fought with a sword alight with flame, and Sansa watched with horror as Sandor was forced to face his greatest fear. Joffrey knew what it was that he had done, and there was a cruel twist to his lips as the announcer called for the fight to begin.

Sandor fought with unparalleled fury, but Sansa could see the panic that shone in his eyes with every shower of sparks from Beric's blade. As the smaller man began to grow desperate, he lashed out, and Sandor's shield was set ablaze. The fire spread to his arm as he cut Beric clean in half with a cry of rage, and Sansa's heart leapt to her throat as he desperately tried to extinguish the flames. She could see where the fire had burned through the cloth beneath his armor, and knew that he would be scarred once again.

Joffrey's laughter grated in her ears as Sandor's eyes grew wet with tears, and she excused herself from his side, hurrying below to where the gladiators waited as the crowd roared their approval.

His arm was being wrapped in bandages when she arrived, and the physicians scurried away when they saw their empress, leaving the two of them alone.

"I'll kill him," Sandor said darkly, but his gaze was still misty and there was fear behind the anger in his deep grey eyes. "I swear to the gods, I'll kill him, little bird."

Sansa shook her head slowly as she met his eyes, and she stepped toward him, her hand moving to his bare chest as it heaved shakily beneath her touch.

"If you do they will only kill you too."

"Maybe that's what I deserve," he growled, and his eyes found Beric's still bleeding body in the center of the arena. "If it isn't his executioner who does it, it will be someone in the arena one day."

She shook her head again, and when he looked back to her, she saw a desperation and agony in his gaze that made her heart rise to her throat. He had been strangely kind to her since her family's deaths, and now that she was a woman grown, she thought she understood why. There was a hunger in his features as he looked at her that she sometimes felt when she thought of him, her fingers brushing experimentally between her thighs.

In the darkened tunnels beneath the arena, she pressed herself against him, and when his ruined mouth fell to meet hers, she felt something that Joffrey had never awakened within her. As his hands tangled in her hair and she sighed against his lips, they succumbed to their desires, no matter the consequences.

* * *

It was nearly a half a year since Sansa had been made Empress that a rebellion on the northern edge of the Empire grew to be more than a band of rebels, and Joffrey declared war upon the insurgents. He would march at their helm, and told his young wife that he would return in no more than a few months, victorious.

In his absence, he ordered his former sworn shield to watch over the Empress, and as he always had, Sandor obeyed. A cruel gleam lit Joffrey's eyes as he imagined his wife being forced into the presence of the scarred and ferocious warrior, and he did not see the look that passed between them. In the end, he would be made a fool.

They watched as he marched from the palace gates with an army at his back, and as he receded from view, Sandor moved his arm from the hilt of his sword to the curve of Sansa's waist as she leaned into him.

"You're free of him, little bird."

She nodded wearily and sighed. "For now."

The gladiator and the Roman Empress had had little time alone since they first gave into their feelings for one another. They met in the dead of night when they were able, in darkened alcoves of the palace, and Sansa forgot about Joffrey's touch in his arms, accepting his kisses and caresses eagerly and giving shyly in return.

With him gone from the palace, they had a freedom they weren't used to, but there were still watching eyes within its walls, loyal to the Lannisters.

By the emperor's orders, Sandor had retired from the arena to watch over Sansa, and she was relieved that he was no longer forced to fight, though each day brought them closer to the dreaded day of Joffrey's return.

One warm summer night, they stood on the castle battlements, and Sansa sighed as she looked at the city below. "I came up here," she said quietly. "The night after the wedding. I stood and stared down at the people in the streets, and I thought of how simple it would be to escape this life."

Sandor's arms tightened around her waist and he bent his head to kiss her neck. "I won't lose you, little bird," he murmured, and she smiled at the address. He had meant it mockingly that night, so drunk he could barely stand. But he had grown to use it affectionately, and she enjoyed how it sounded in the deep rasp of his voice.

"Won't you?" She asked. "Joffrey will return and you will fight again and I will be forced to endure him within me even if it's you in my mind."

Sandor's expression darkened at the reminder that another man shared Sansa's bed, and he ran his thumb across her collarbone, watching as goosebumps rose beneath his touch.

"I wish I could have made things different, little bird," he murmured. "I nearly drank myself to death that night, and still I couldn't shake the thought of him in your bed. For a moment, I even wished I had taken your maidenhead."

Sansa sighed at that and leaned her head back against his shoulder. "Sometimes I wished the same."

Sandor's heart quickened at the confession, and for what felt like the thousandth time, he forced down the urge to take her. She was another man's wife, and though he loved her, he would not do anything that she did not want. Simply being in his arms was enough to name her traitor if they were ever discovered, but if she gave herself to him, they would surely be killed.

Sansa turned in his grasp and looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark in the light of the moons. "How much further is there to fall?" She could sense his thoughts, by either his expression or his body's reaction to her soft curves against him, and there was a wanton desire in her eyes that was grievously tempting.

"I have already given you my heart," she continued, and her hand moved to the laces of his tunic. "And I wish to be yours in truth."

"In truth?" he echoed. "You're the Empress Sansa Lannister of Rome. Even if it were possible, the Clegane name is too lowly for you to bear."

"Then take me," she breathed, brushing her lips against his. "If I cannot be yours in the eyes of the law, then make me yours in those of the gods. I want to feel you inside me and know that I still have a hand in my own fate."

The Hound had earned his name for his obedience, and he was powerless to resist Sansa's command. Their fingers worked swiftly over laces and ties, and her skin shone in the moonlight as she stood bare before him, open to his touch and taste.

Though she was no longer a maiden, she was inexperienced still, for she did nothing more than suffer Joffrey's touch, and knew little of pleasuring a man.

Guided by the whispers she had heard in the servants' halls, she fell to her knees and Sandor's hands tangled instinctively in her hair as he swore. "Fuck, little bird," he groaned. "Where in the hells did you learn to do that?"

Emboldened by his reaction, she shrugged her shoulders and continued the motion of her lips. For a moment, Sandor let her continue, and he found a perverse satisfaction in the sight of the empress herself on her knees before him. She was the most beautiful woman in Rome, and he, a scarred and brutal gladiator, had somehow earned her love and attentions. Even the clumsy movements of her mouth felt a thousand times better than those of the most experienced whore.

When he gently moved her head and knelt before her, her expression grew shy and hesitant, and he kissed her soundly to dispel her worries. "I can't wait any longer, Sansa," he said lowly, and her eyes were dark as he lowered her onto the blanket they had brought, covering her smooth, soft body with his own rough and scarred one.

She nodded and her head lolled back with a sigh as he bent his lips to envelop one of her hardened nipples. Joffrey would grope roughly at her breasts as he came to her, but Sandor was slow and as gentle as he could be expected to be, his tongue toying with her sensitive nerves as she shuddered beneath him.

"Please," she breathed, wrapping a hand around his neck and sliding the other across his back. "I need you."

Her body thrummed with desire and she felt a surge of moisture between her thighs that surprised her. When it was Joffrey within her, her body did what it could to ease the discomfort, but she felt no arousal. The mere brush of Sandor's hands across her skin sent her muddled mind spinning and she longed to feel him with an urgency that startled her.

Her back arched as he did as she asked, and a moan left her lips as he found his place deep inside her. Suddenly, she understood the giggles and whispers she had heard as a girl. Never before had she felt so utterly and completely alive.

On the roof, beneath the stars and the watchful gaze of the gods, they gave themselves to each other fully at last, and as they shuddered and cried in unison, Sansa's life was changed forever, no longer simply following the whims of Fate.

* * *

Joffrey's men, though victorious, did not return home as soon as they had hoped. Two months passed, and then three, and four. Sansa began to hope that he would never return, and with each day, she fell deeper in love with Sandor Clegane, though she knew that it was foolish and rash to feel such for a man who was not her husband.

When she couldn't sleep, she walked through the halls on bare feet and let herself into his chambers. Though he did not complain, and wanted nothing more than to spend every night with her, he feared for her life, and his own, and knew that they could not be so careless when Joffrey returned.

Eventually, news of their impending arrival reached the city, and though Sandor tried in vain to distance himself from Sansa in preparation, she came to him on the night before they were due to return.

"You shouldn't be here, little bird," he murmured as she slipped into his chambers. She wore only her thin nightshift, and the curves of her body through the sheer fabric made his mind grow muddled.

"I know," she said quietly as she dropped the shift to the floor and settled atop his lap. "But I needed to be with you, if only just once more."

Though he sighed, he understood, and when she kissed him, he moved his hands to her hips. They felt fuller in his palms than he remembered, and he admired her for a moment, his eyes fluttering shut momentarily as she took him inside of her. Her breasts were full and round and bounced enticingly as she moved above him, and he tried to memorize the sight of her.

"I love you, Sandor," she whispered, and he brushed the tears from her cheeks as he responded in kind.

"I love you too, Sansa."

They savored the feel of each other as they made love, and when Sansa lie slumped across Sandor's still heaving chest, she whispered something quietly against his shoulder.

Sandor's eyes opened and shut slowly and he rubbed a hand across her back. "What, little bird?"

There was fear and longing in her gaze when she lifted her head, and his heart clenched as she repeated herself.

"I'm with child."

Sandor's eyes fell to her stomach and he stared for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "Are you sure?"

Sansa nodded, and he let out a shaky breath at the motion. "Gods, Sansa...a baby. _My_ baby."

A slight smile tugged at her lips and she nodded again. "Yes."

As the initial surge of pride faded, he thought of the consequences, and he swore under his breath. "What are we going to do if you give birth and the babe looks like me?"

Sansa shrugged slightly, running her fingers through the long strands of his dark hair. "My father and sister had coloring akin to yours. Though I inherited the Tully look, the Starks were of the North, like you."

Sandor nodded absently and leaned forward to kiss her, slowly and deeply. When he pulled away, he saw tears in her eyes and he swore to her on his life that he would protect her and their child, no matter what it took.

* * *

When Joffrey returned, Sandor spent much of his time in the city. He could not bear to witness what he would do to Sansa, and he did not trust himself around her any longer, particularly in the Emperor's presence.

He was eyeing a jeweled brooch at a vendor along the street when a man approached him, dressed in fine clothes and with hair dyed a garish shade of red on one side and a stark white on the other.

"You are Sandor Clegane, are you not?" The man asked, and Sandor sighed heavily before turning to meet his gaze, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"Aye. What of it?"

The lord appeared to be of an age with Sandor, if not only just younger, and he looked the larger man over for a moment before responding.

"My name is Lord Jaqen H'ghar. I am looking to sponsor a gladiator for our Emperor's arena."

Sandor snorted at that. "I don't fight anymore. Bugger off."

A street rat ran across his path in pursuit of a pigeon as he turned to leave, and when he swore irritably and stalked away, Jaqen H'ghar's gaze followed him for only a moment, before turning to the girl in the alleyway.

 _Perhaps_ , Sandor thought bitterly. _She can be his champion._

* * *

Much to Sansa's delight, and Sandor's frustration, Joffrey commanded the former Hound to continue his watch over the Empress. Some scrawny boy by the name of Arry Snow had begun to fight in the arena, and had proven to be a surprisingly able fighter. In light of his rise through the gladiatorial ranks, Joffrey thought he would prove to be a great entertainment, and dismissed Sandor from returning to the arena in favor of the new champion.

It was as Joffrey watched the fights in the arena that Sandor and Sansa were able to slip away, and they spent much of their time on the battlements, far from the prying eyes of the court. Beneath the blue of the sky they imagined what could never be, and Sandor watched his lover's body grow with equal measure of pride and fear. When he was able to see her bare before him, the growing swell of her belly was evident, and he was afraid that Joffrey could see it too, and would soon realize the nature of her condition. When that day did come, he only hoped that the emperor was foolish enough to believe the child was his.

After a string of impressive victories by the young gladiator Snow, Joffrey invited he and his sponsor to the palace. Sansa agreed to attend the dinner held in his honor, but paid little attention. The sponsor was a charming and handsome man, and the gladiator a scruffy looking teen. Joffrey listened to them with interest, but Sansa couldn't find it in herself to care.

The night before, Joffrey had come to her chambers and told her what he had planned for young Arry Snow. He would return the Hound to the arena and pit the boy against him, to kill Sandor, or likely, die trying. Either way, it would be a battle for the ages, for Sandor was the single most renowned fighter aside from his brother, and Arry Snow was growing to be a favorite of those who gathered to watch and bet on the fights.

The thought of losing Sandor had been troubling even before she had realized and acted upon her feelings for him, but now, she feared that he might die without ever being able to meet their child. She knew he was an able fighter, but Arry Snow had proven to be the same, and she could not shake the fear from her mind.

The meal stretched on for hours, and Sansa tried to hide her relief when Joffrey finally rose and invited Jaqen H'ghar back to his solar to discuss the upcoming fight. As soon as he left, Sansa hurried away, unaware of Snow's gaze on her back.

She found Sandor pacing the hall outside her chambers, and her eyes welled with tears as he caught sight of her. She made to run toward him, but he shook his head sharply, his gaze searching the surrounding halls with deep paranoia. As much as he wanted to hold her and feel her against him, he would not condemn his child to death for the sake of his lust.

"You've heard then," he said warily, and Sansa's tears fell to her cheeks as she nodded.

"Must you return?" Her tone was desperate, and afraid. "I thought your fighting days were over."

Sandor sighed at that and his guard dropped slightly as he ran a hand across his face. "I thought so too, little bird, but after that new whelp killed Joffrey's favorite, he's gotten bored. He wants me back, to either kill Snow or die trying. Either way, it would be a good show for the bastard."

"How could you say such a thing?" Sansa replied, her voice rising in anger. She strode to meet him and placed a hand against his chest, her eyes filled with fear and hopelessness. "You know I couldn't live without you. And what about..." She moved a hand to the swell of her growing belly and Sandor gripped her forearms to stop the motion.

"Hush, little bird," he hissed. "Do you want them to kill us both?" He sighed heavily as her lower lip trembled and he held her against him for a brief moment, only allowing himself to give her the comfort she needed.

After a moment, she tilted her head to look at him and spoke quietly. "Just promise that you'll come back to me. To us. Don't let him tear us apart."

Sandor's expression softened at her plea and he nodded wearily, meeting her lips in a tender kiss. When he pulled away, he gestured for her to go before they were discovered, and reluctantly, she obeyed, hurrying away around the corner.

He watched her go for a moment before following. A slight young man turned the corner just as he approached and Sandor stopped short, glaring down at the lad. Arry Snow, he assumed, for he still remembered the flamboyance of his sponsor from the market.

"Do you know the way to the Emperor's solar, ser?" He stammered, an awkward smile gracing his young and boyish features.

"I'm no ser," Sandor snarled. "And get the fuck out of my way."

He brushed past angrily and stormed off down the hall, furious at Joffrey for returning him to the arena to fight such a pathetic looking bastard boy.

If he was to die, it would not be at that whelp's hands, he would be sure of that.

* * *

Two months passed in preparation for the fight, and with each day, Sansa's worries grew. Sandor assured her that he would survive the battle, but she had frequent nightmares of his body in the arena, and could not shake the images from his mind, even in the light of day.

Finally, on the day before the fight was to be held, she decided to take matters into her own hands, and she took a carriage to Lord H'ghar's manor, determined to speak to Arry Snow.

A servant met her at the door with wide eyes, and when she asked to see the gladiator, and recently named knight, in mention, she scurried away.

A moment later, the young boy met her in the hall, and he bent into a low bow when he stood before her. "My lady."

"Ser Snow," Sansa replied with cold courtesy, before glancing nervously about for any sign of listening ears. "Is there somewhere more private that we could speak?"

The gladiator hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yes, my lady. This way."

He led the way to his private quarters, and when the door was closed, Sansa spoke, far too nervous to think of the impropriety of the situation. "You are fighting against S..." She faltered and hastily corrected her error. "The Hound on the morrow. It is imperative that he wins."

Arry stared at her with an expression of incredulity before narrowing his eyes and taking a step toward her. "Do you realize what it is that you're asking of me?"

Of course she did. As frightened as she had become, she understood that if anyone knew what she was asking, her secret would be discovered and she would be sentenced with high treason and condemned to death.

Sansa nodded slowly and rested her hands on the curve of her swiftly growing belly. "I'm asking you to die."

"And you expected me to just roll over and accept this?" His voice rose in anger and Sansa flushed, her resolve broken in the face of the gladiator's sudden aggression.

"I told you," she stammered. "You must. There is no other option."

"Did the emperor send you here?" he spat. "I thought Joffrey wanted to see a battle, not a slaughter. Gods damn it, Sansa, I can't just give up my life like that!"

"You don't understand!" Sansa wailed, stepping toward him and taking one of his hands desperately between her own. "You must! I can't—he _can't_ die!" Overcome with emotion, she burst into tears and fled the room, leaving Arry to watch her go, alone with his choice.

* * *

"Lords and ladies, knights and paramours!" The arena's announcer began as he always did, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. Sansa sat to Joffrey's right, her heart pounding in her chest. "Allow me to welcome you...to...the...arena!"

The crowd roared their excitement, and Sansa felt her stomach turn.

"Today's battle brings you two able warriors. The first is a monster of a man, brought back to the arena for this very…special…occasion!" The far gate began to rise, and he shouted over the crowds applause as Sandor stalked into the arena. "I give you...The Hound!"

Foolishly and impulsively, she had gone to him the night before, and though he had warned her against her actions, he did not dismiss her. They had moved together with a desperation that only served to fuel her fear, and when she returned to her chambers, she left him with a ribbon from her shift, a favor to wear in the battle. She could see it now across the arena, fluttering about the hilt of his sword as he met her gaze.

"His opponent is the man you've all grown to know and love, the bastard turned barbarian beneath his sponsor's tutelage." The second gate began its ascent and Sandor's opponent emerged a moment after his name was called. "I give you...Ser...Arry...Snow!"

The arena fell silent and still as the two fighters eyed each other warily across the blood-soaked field.

"Let the battle...begin!"

When the call was made, the bastard boy stalked toward Sandor, who drew his sword and planted his feet in the dirt. He was only a few steps away and Sansa's heart was in her throat when he stopped suddenly and threw his sword to the ground.

In the shocked silence that followed, his voice echoed, and every man, woman, and child in the stands leaned forward to hear him speak.

"I forfeit."

The silence continued for a few seconds before shattering in a torrent of shocked murmurs, one voice rising above all the others with a childish petulance. "He can't do that! I'm the emperor and I say he can't! Fight, damn it! I came here to see a fight!"

Joffrey stood and swore viciously at her side, but before anyone could think to move, Snow lifted a hand and removed his helmet.

Sansa stared down at the man— _woman_ —before her with dawning realization, and her eyes filled with tears. Sandor had been spared, her child would know his father, and now her sister stood before her, covered in dirt and blood, but _alive_.

A dead silence reigned again and gave the woman below the opportunity to speak once more. "My name is not Arry Snow. Such a man never existed." She met her sister's gaze with blazing grey eyes, and her lips curved into a grin of triumph. "I am Arya Stark."


End file.
